


The Boys In The Band (abandoned)

by calathea



Series: A Band Called Fish [5]
Category: Bugs Potter - Gordon Korman, Macdonald Hall - Gordon Korman
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 15:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8718475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calathea/pseuds/calathea
Summary: Once upon a time I started a sequel to A Band Called Fish. I don't plan to finish it, but for amusement value, here is the start of the story. At the time I was very into bandom, and it therefore crosses over with Panic! At the Disco, as well having my (usual) vast cast of OCs. I like some of the OCs so much that I ended up writing a whole mini off shoot of the main story, which in Chapter 2.





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

brunosgirl4eva: OMG. OMFG!  
mrsrossyface: hey bb, what’s up :D are you recovered from the Panic pit of voles?  
brunosgirl4eva: Bugs posted on his bolg!  
brunosgirl4eva: “hey guys I am really looking forward to the End Note tonight for Crustasean Sensation.”  
mrsrossyface: (is that even how you spell it? lol spelling fail Bugs)  
brunosgirl4eva: and I went to check and End Note is now SOLD OUT for tonight.  
mrsrossyface: !!!!  
mrsrossyface: WE ALREADY HAVE TIX!  
brunosgirl4eva: I KNOW!  
mrsrossyface: BUGS IS GOING TO BE ONSTAGE I BET YOU MONEY!  
brunosgirl4eva: I KNOW!  
mrsrossyface: I take back everything ever about how lame you are for liking the lead singer of crustacean enough to pay $5 extra for advance tix.  
brunosgirl4eva: shutup :P  
mrsrossyface: Panic last night. Bugs probably on stage tonight. BEST WEEK EVER?  
brunosgirl4eva: plus the crustacean boys and their stupid little faces! <3 Matty!  
brunosgirl4eva: omg, fucking best week of my LIFE.  
mrsrossyface: ok, important question now: what are you wearing tonight?

 

Spencer was unimpressed. Actually, he was _epically_ unimpressed, which was an awful lot of unimpressed in one place. He was quite willing the burden of guilt for exactly how unimpressed he was at Brendon's door.

"Why are we here again?" he asked, as they sidled down an unpleasant alley towards the stage door. Spencer felt something squelch under his foot, but he refused to look down to find out what exactly he now had stuck on the bottom of his three hundred dollar, two-week-old Nikes.

"The lead singer is my mother's Canadian cousin-in-law's son," Brendon said, with unalloyed cheer. He apparently hadn't noticed exactly how thoroughly unimpressed Spencer was, and how much of this ill feeling was directed at Brendon himself. "We met at Bible camp when we were nine, don't ask, and he e-mailed me and asked if I wanted to come to his show tonight since we were in town. Their band is called _Crustacean Sensation_! I think we have to see them just for that."

Spencer frowned at him, but their security guy for the night, Mick, beckoned them over to the stage door. They'd left Zack, who claimed to have a cold, behind at the hotel guarding Ryan and Jon. Since Ryan and Jon had nothing more exciting planned than calling their girlfriends and maybe eating some Cheetos and Zack hadn't even sneezed once today, Spencer thought maybe Zack just hadn’t wanted to come to some shitty downtown club with Brendon. He looked sideways at Brendon, who was decked out in a ridiculous fishing hat ("It's a disguise!") and winced at the muffled roar of the music they could hear now the stage door was open. Maybe Zack had the right idea.

"You're here for Crustacean?" the bouncer on the stage door was saying. "Yeah, you're on the list, come on in."

Spencer paused to wipe his shoe thankfully on the mat provided, but Brendon just bounced right in, pulling off his stupid hat and calling: "Matty!" at a skinny guy in flared leather pants who was standing just inside the door.

"Bren!" the leather pants wearer called back, beaming delightedly. They jumped up and down with each other in a tangle of flailing limbs for a moment. Spencer wondered if scientists had ever isolated the genetic component of being like Brendon, because obviously it was hereditary.

Brendon and Matty were still clinging to one another and babbling something about Bible camp, so Spencer smiled coolly at what he assumed was the rest of Matty's band. There were three of them, and they were also all wearing leather pants. "Hi," he said, "I'm Spencer Smith."

They all looked a little overwhelmed. "Um…" one guy stuttered, reaching out belatedly to shake Spencer's hand when he offered it. He was the band's drummer, going by the drumsticks in his pocket and the familiar calluses on his palm. The other two guys shook hands wordlessly and then tried to hide behind the drummer. Since he was the shortest and skinniest kid in the band, it didn't really work. They stared at him over the drummer's shoulder.

The silence stretched out awkwardly. Spencer flicked at his hair and watched three sets of eyes follow his movements.

Luckily, before it all got a little too _Children of the Corn_ , Matty and Brendon finally got over their excitement at their reunion and came over.

"Hi, Spencer," he said, when Brendon introduced them. "So this is Damien and Rob, who play bass and guitar, and Avenge, our drummer."

The guitarists waved from behind the drummer.

"It's really Dave," the drummer admitted in a small voice.

"Avenge is kind of freaked out," confided Damien-or-possibly-Rob. "Bugs posted about us on his blog and he's like, Avenge's biggest hero ever."

"He wrote that he likes the drum part I wrote in _Trilobite_ ,."Avenge said, looking thrilled and terrified in equal parts.

"That's our big song," said Rob-or- maybe-Damien, proudly. "Some of the kids know the lyrics to that one!"

They all took a moment to look dazed, even Matty. Spencer caught Brendon's enormous grin out of the corner of his eye. Last night at the South Academy he'd had a couple of thousand kids singing along to every song they'd played, word perfect.

Spencer ducked his head to smile at his shoes when Brendon just said: "Wow, that's cool!"

"I don't even know how Bugs _heard_ us, though," Matty said. "Unless he like, lurks on Purevolume and MySpace all the time."

"People send him links of songs with cool drum parts," Avenge said. "In like, the comments on his blog."

"But that's not the really big part," said Matty, ignoring Avenge. "He said he was coming down here to listen to us."

He beamed, but the guitarists cringed and tried to hide behind Avenge again.

"He might be on stage with me. _Bugs Potter_ ," Avenge said.

Spencer looked a question sidelong at Brendon, who shrugged. "Um," he said, "I'm not familiar with the name. Who is Bugs Potter?"

Avenge stared at him. The guitarists popped their heads up to stare at him over Avenge's shoulders. "You don't know who _Bugs_ is?" Avenge said, aghast. "Bugs _Potter_. A Band Called Fish? You know?"

Spencer shook his head and looked again a Brendon. "Are they a local band?" Brendon asked, brightly.

The Crustacean guys, implausibly, looked even more shocked at Brendon's question. Luckily, before all their rock star cred was lost, the venue manager came over and told the band they were on in five minutes. The whole Bugs Potter question was shelved in favour of frenzied preparations for going on stage. Spencer grinned when the guys came together for an urgent group hug and then skipped out onto the stage. He gave Avenge, who almost disappeared from sight behind his drum kit, an approving thumbs up when he started twirling his drumsticks while Matty started his stage patter.

Avenge dropped his drumsticks.

Luckily, Spencer's laugh was lost in the _twang, twang_ of the guitars as they started their first song, and a few screams and cheers from the crowd.

By the time they were three songs in, Spencer had concluded that Avenge and Matty needed to kick their guitar players to the kerb and start again. "The bass is totally out of synch with the drums," he yelled to Brendon over the music.

"Matty sounds good though," Brendon yelled back, and Spencer nodded.

He edged sideways to look out into the crowd. Some of the audience seemed pretty into the music, but there were more people just hanging around near the back, not singing or even bobbing their heads. They all looked… expectant, somehow. He was about to ask Brendon when the stage door clanged open again, and three more guys came into the into the tiny side stage area.

"Adam!" the venue manager said, and reached out to slap one of the guys on the back. "Good to see you."

Adam, who was a tall, clean-cut buy with brown wavy hair, grinned back. "Thanks for putting us on the list," he yelled back. "You've met Bugs, right?"

He tugged at the second guy's arm, and the venue manager turned to greet him too. Spencer took the time to look him over. Bugs was Adam's polar opposite: he was on the short side, probably, though the way his hair stood up on end made him seem taller, and dressed in ragged jeans and a beat-up t-shirt that said "It Is Rock O'Clock". Even if the name hadn't given him away, the drumsticks in his pocket would have done. This was the mysterious drummer that the Crustacean guys had been freaking about. Spencer squinted. Bugs looked vaguely familiar, he decided, but probably just because he looked like any one of a hundred dudes in bands Spencer had met.

The third guy was a large, beefy security type, and he was exchanging surprised hellos with Mick. "Thought you had a gig with some American band," he was saying.

Mick shrugged and waved a hand at them. "They're here for this show too," he said, "Or half of them. Their lead security wanted a night off."

Brendon, who had been following all this with interest, broke in: "Hey! I thought Zack had a cold! I made him my special honey lemon tea and everything," he protested.

Mick shrugged and grinned. "What can I say?" he said, spreading his hands wide.

Brendon pouted, and Spencer patted his arm.

"This is Tom," Mick said, "He does protection for Bugs here. And the rest of his band, of course."

Tom nodded. "It's a full-time job," he said, sighing.

"Hey!" said Bugs, grinning widely. "I'm not nearly as much trouble as Bruno!"

Adam seemed to choke. Bugs elbowed him playfully.

Spencer found himself grinning at the familiarity of their routine. He half-wished Ryan and Jon had come along tonight.

"Hi, I'm Brendon," Brendon interjected. "I'm Matty's sort of almost cousin."

Adam laughed. "Yeah, I know who you are," he said, grinning, "My sister was at your show last night."

"Oh! Cool," Brendon said, "Did she have fun?"

Adam nodded. "She said you were the _MOST_ ," interjected Bugs.

"Unfortunately," said Adam, wryly. "Bugs is sort of wearing off on her, I think."

Bugs laughed, and then squinted thoughtfully at Spencer. He seemed about to say something when renewed screaming from the audience made them all turn to look at the stage. Matty was dancing with the microphone stand at the front of the stage. Several girls seemed to find his leather-clad ass scream-worthy.

Spencer wasn't totally opposed himself.

They all watched in silence for a few minutes.

"I know you like the drummer," Spencer heard Adam say to Bugs when the song ended. "But dude, the guitarists suck."

Bugs nodded, but then turned to Tom with a strangely pleading grin when Matty started to talk. "Pleeeeease?" he said.

Tom sighed. "Yeah, okay, but we have to do the rock star exit," he said, warningly.

Bugs raised his arms in a cheer.

Suddenly the side stage was ridiculously overcrowded as the Crustacean guys came off. Their elated babble came to an abrupt halt when Avenge saw Bugs. He stopped dead. The guitarists cannoned into him with aggrieved grunts.

Matty, who had greeted Spencer and Brendon without any appearance of nerves, stuttered: "Bugs Potter?"

Bugs grinned. "Hey! You sounded good!" he said, cheerfully. He turned immediately to the drummer. "I like your stick action!"

Avenge looked like he might faint.

The guitarists cowered. "Oh my god," said Matty. "Adam Webb?"

Adam smiled. "Hey, you're Matty, right?" he said. "And?"

He looked expectantly at the rest of the band. "Rob," said the bassist.

"Damien," the guitar player said.

"Avenge," said the drummer, in a tiny voice. "Except it's really Dave."

"Yeah?" said Bugs, delightedly, "My real name's Dave too! But these days pretty much everyone calls me Bugs, you know? Even my mom."

Avenge nodded. "Um," he said, and then looked like he would like to drop through the floor.

Outside, the crowd was getting restless. Spencer could hear a chant of "Bugs! Bugs!" starting up. The venue manager nudged Matty and hissed. "You need to go back on!"

"Oh, so, hey," Bugs said, after a quick exchange of looks with Adam. "You're going to play Trilobite, yeah? Would you mind if I played with you?"

He looked hopefully at Avenge. Avenge looked like he might come in his pants at the thought of Bugs playing his kit. He offered Bugs his sticks wordlessly, but Bugs just grinned and pulled his own out of his pocket.

Matty looked like he might throw up, but he nodded, and after hugging Avenge quickly, he ran back on stage, the other three following, with Bugs at the rear.

The volume of the crowd at least tripled when Bugs ran on. "They recognise his hair," Adam shouted to Brendon. Brendon laughed.

"Boys and girls," Matty was saying into the microphone, "We're very honoured tonight to have the one and only Bugs Potter playing drums with us for our last song!"

The crowd went wild. Matty yelled over the screaming: "And it's called Trilobite, and it was written by our very own drummer, Avenge Brown!"

There was more screaming. In the side stage area, Avenge went pale and wiped the sweat from his brow. On stage Bugs clicked his sticks together and counted them in.

"I might go back to Dave," Avenge… Dave said, a few bars into the song, apparently to no-one.

Spencer didn't hear him. He didn't hear anything but the beat of the drum. Bugs was… Bugs was _amazing_. Spencer knew some amazing drummers, he really did. But this guy. This guy was just…

"He's the MOST," said Dave, fervently, turning to Adam. "He really is. Me and Matty saw you guys live in London, but my mom made us get seated tickets so we could hardly see anything. Up close. Wow."

Adam smiled. "Here," he said, offering Dave a small pad of paper and a pen. "Write your e-mail address down. Bugs is going to want to talk to you, and we have to do the rock star exit."

Dave took the pen and in a nerveless grip, and stared at Adam. "E-mail?" he said.

Adam nodded firmly. Dave blinked, and then started scribbling.

"What's the rock star exit?" Brendon asked, coming over to hang on Spencer's shoulders. Spencer ignored him, intent on Bugs' playing on stage.

"It's the way you're leaving too," said Mick, and Adam nodded. "We've got two cars out the back for you guys to jump in before the fangirls can grab you."

Spencer felt Brendon's shudder at the thought of rabid Canadian fangirls. "I can call Matty from the hotel," he said, agreeably.

On stage, Bugs was playing the drums with his eyes closed, a huge smile splitting his face. The crowd was screaming. Matty was leaning hard into his microphone stand and rocking the lyrics. Even Rob and Damian were almost keeping up.

"Wow," said Spencer.

Adam laughed. "Oh, drummer porn," he said, affectionately. Spencer tore his eyes away from Bugs for a moment to stare at him. Adam shrugged, and turned to Dave. "This is the part he likes best."

Dave looked awed. "I wrote this," he said, shakily. "Bugs Potter is playing something I wrote."

Adam put a steadying hand on Dave's back, and took back the pad of paper. "And that's why he'll want to talk to you," he said, grinning.

Suddenly, the song was ending on stage. This was the signal for intense confusion as the band ran off the stage and the "rock star exit" plan went into action. Spencer found himself exchanging extremely hurried good-byes with Matty and Dave as he and Brendon were bundled out of the door and into a waiting car. He didn't even get a chance to do more than wave to Adam and Bugs, and his last glimpse of them was them falling into the second car in a mass of flailing limbs.

"That was awesome!" Brendon said, too loudly in the sudden quiet of the car. Mick slid into the front seat next to the driver and the car pulled away from the kerb. "Matty is so much better than I expected, and I liked the tiny little drummer dude, and those Canadian band guys seemed pretty cool."

Spencer blinked at him. "Have you ever heard of them?" he said, "What were they called? Their drummer was amazing!"

Brendon grinned at him. "Oh, Spencer has a _crush_ ," he carolled merrily.

Mick turned round from the front seat. "A Band Called Fish," he said, smiling at Spencer. "Hope you haven't got a crush. Adam and Bugs have been a couple for-fucking-ever."

Spencer blinked. "Oh," he said. "They're big here?"

Mick shrugged. "From what I hear," he said, "My kid sister loves them."

Brendon was humming something under his breath. "I want pancakes," he said, suddenly. "Do you think room service will do pancakes when we get back?"

Spencer looked at him. "It's like, midnight," he said. "You don't need more sugar."

Brendon stuck his tongue out at him. "You are a pancake-hater," Brendon said, solemnly. "A pancake-hater who hates fun."

Spencer crossed his arms. "I'll make Jon sit on you," he threatened.

Brendon frowned. "Jon would never sit on me," he said. "Your threats are hollow, pancake-hater boy."

Somehow, discussion of pancakes, and Spencer's supposed hatred for them, consumed the whole of the rest of the short journey to the hotel and about an hour with his own band, and Spencer didn't get a chance to ask Mick any more about A Band Called Fish.

Before he went to sleep, though, he made the time to download their latest album to his iPod.

 

 

**Chapter 1: The Most Fun At Parties Always Happens In The Corridors**

Phil: This is Phil's Rock News here on KROCK Toronto, and right now we've got our friend and favourite A Band Called Fish member Boots O'Neil on the phone. Boots! Good to hear from you, man, how are things rocking with you?

Boots: Things are rocking just great, Phil.

Phil: Awesome. So, I hear you have some exciting news for us?

Boots: I do! We're just starting up publicity for our latest tour here in Canada, and I wanted to let your listeners know first.

Phil: I'm sure they're out there reaching for their credit cards already. Tell us a little more.

Boots: It's called the Bandits are Welcome on Cloud Nine Tour, and it'll be coming to a city near you in the late summer and autumn.

Phil: Awesome!

Boots: But that’s not the amazing part.

Phil: I think that's pretty amazing already, but go on.

Boots: Well, we're taking our favourite girls ever, Toast at Midnight out with us, and of course that's going to be awesome. But something I know is going to get people excited is that Panic at the Disco will be with us too as co-headliners.

Phil: Whoa, really? That's crazy! How did you get together with those guys?

Boots: We met through some friends of ours here in Toronto. They're awesome and our people talked to their people, and we managed to get this tour together. We decided we needed to show them just how hard Canada knows how to rock.

Phil: [laughs] Awesome. Now it says here on the sheet in front of me that you'll be doing two shows here in Toronto right at the end of the tour. I hope you'll come back in to talk to us then, and for our Fish and Panic fans out there, we'll be doing some giveaways too I'm sure.

Boots: Definitely!

Phil: Well, listeners, that was Boots of A Band Called Fish and you heard it here first! You should go to their website now for more information and tickets, at www-dot….

* * *

Spencer glared at his bags and decided that he'd been missing the day they handed out the gene for packing everything perfectly. They'd only been in the hotel in Toronto two nights, and somehow his belongings had expanded to twice their previous size and refused to go back into his suitcases for the transfer onto the bus.

Glaring didn't magically solve the problem. (It magically solved a lot of other problems though, so Spencer wasn't prepared to give up on it permanently.) Sitting on it hadn't helped either. He sighed. Obviously, the answer was to find someone much larger, and get _them_ to sit on the bag. Clearly, no-one in his band was of any practical assistance with this, and Zack had refused to help since the third day he'd started working for Panic. That left him with the option finding some unsuspecting tech or security guy out in the corridor. The tour had taken over the entire floor of the hotel for the night, so there should be plenty of targets.

Spencer opened the door to his room and peeked around the corner. There were a couple of guys hanging out by the vending machines at the end of the corridor. He sauntered over, realizing belatedly that he was wearing his indoor pants, which were a gift from Brendon and therefore had a distinct pink elephant motif.

He considered retreat, but as if thinking of Brendon had conjured him, he appeared suddenly in the doorway nearest the vending machines. He looked flushed and rumpled. Spencer decided to assume he too had been fighting with his suitcases.

"Spencer! Oh my god, I need help!" Brendon said, catching sight of Spencer walking down the hallway and confirming his suspicions. "You're large and manly! Come sit on my bags!"

The guys at the end of the corridor turned. Spencer paused; he was momentarily concerned by the fact that he didn't recognize any of them.

"Spencer Smith?" one of the guys asked, pleasantly. He was tall and blond, and maybe a half dozen years older than Spencer. His shaggy hair hung halfway into his blue eyes. He friend straightened up from where he'd been leaning on the wall. He was about the same age, with dark hair and brown eyes. His t-shirt proclaimed that he was a rocker, and he rocked out.

Spencer nodded, hoping they were with the tour and not crazy Canadian hostage takers. He wondered whether he should shove Brendon back into his room for safety. He wished he wasn't wearing pink elephant pants, because that would be very humiliating to hear in the description of his outfit when he went missing.

"Hi!" said the second guy. "We're from Fish. Good to meet you at last!"

"Oh, hey, great!" said Brendon, who apparently never wondered if he was about to be kidnapped by Canadians. "I'm Brendon. This is Spencer, our drummer."

"I'm Bruno," the second guy said. "And this is Boots."

Boots smiled at them both. "We talked on the phone," he said, and Spencer relaxed. Now that he thought about it, yes, Boots' voice was familiar.

"Hi," he said, and they all shook hands.

"So, you guys ready for the wilds of Canada?" Bruno asked, with a grin. He stuck his hands in his pockets.

Brendon nodded. "Just tell me there'll be Mounties!" he said, and Spencer rolled his eyes. "And moose! Meese. Mooses."

"Um," said Boots, "There'll probably be Mounties in Ottawa, I guess. But moose, I don't know."

Brendon turned a tragic expression on Spencer. "You promised you would produce a moose," he said, in tones of terrible betrayal. "You promised me and Jon. It was practically in the contract."

"We couldn't put moose in the rider, Brendon," a voice said behind them, and Spencer turned to find Ryan standing in behind them. "We talked about this."

"They never let me have any fun," Brendon complained to Bruno.

Bruno nodded sympathetically. "No-one ever lets me have any fun either," he commiserated. "Not once has Boots let me put platypi on the rider."

"They're endangered. And poisonous," Boots said distractedly, "And you've never said what you would do with one if you had one. Hi. You're Ryan, right? I'm Boots O'Neal."

"They have beaks," Bruno countered, breaking off to shake hands and smile at Ryan. "How can they be poisonous?"

"They have little poisonous claw things," Spencer heard himself say. "On their back feet."

Everyone turned to stare at him. "What?" he said defensively. "I did a project in third grade."

"He did," confirmed Ryan. "I remember it all too well. He made me take the blame for cutting pictures out of his dad's National Geographic without permission."

"Oh my god, are you still holding that grudge?" Spencer asked, incredulously.

Bruno started to laugh. "Boots still brings up the time in sixth grade when I pasted his geography book pages together," he said, conspiratorially.

"I had to pay for that book!" Boots responded immediately. "I had to go a whole month without chocolate."

"It was good for your skin," Bruno said, unrepentantly. He apparently suffered from a fit of very belated remorse though, and broke off a piece of the chocolate bar he was eating and offered it to Boots.

Boots looked at the piece of candy Bruno was holding out. "I don't eat anything that already has teeth marks on it," he said, and everyone laughed.

Spencer found himself relaxing. It wasn't that he'd thought his recommendation that the bands tour together was a bad idea. It was just that in the last couple of weeks it had suddenly seemed a lot riskier to make that decision based on a few minutes of conversation in a bar in downtown Toronto and a week of listening to an album on repeat once they actually started packing up to join the tour. Listening to the guys talk, though, he remembered why he'd had such a good feeling about this from the emails and phone conversations they'd shared.

Another door opened, and Jon's head poked out. "Is this a corridor party?" he said, and Brendon immediately beckoned him over.

"Come meet the Fish guys," Brendon called, and Jon obediently ambled over to be introduced around.

"I like your new album," Jon was saying once he'd shaken hands and been told names. "Especially, um. Sleeping?"

Bruno and Boots shared a look at that, and then Boots ducked his head, looking vaguely embarrassed.

"Yeah," said Bruno, with a sly grin on his face, "We like that one too. I like Northern Downpour best on yours."

That got them started on recording and instruments and lyrics, and before long, they were all sitting on the floor in the corridor talking. They'd been there maybe half an hour, fortified by a couple of raids on hotel room mini-bars and the vending machines, when the elevator dinged, and Bugs and Adam stepped out. There were more cries of welcome.

"Dude," Bugs said, sitting down next to Spencer, "Those pants are the _MOST_. Adam, why don't I have pants like that?"

Brendon, who was leaning in to Spencer's other side, preened. "I bought them in Japan for him," he said, and patted Spencer's knee.

"Ooh, Japan," said Bugs, enviously, "We went once, but we were only there like, two days and then we went to Australia. A koala tried to eat my hair, and then my drumsticks."

Adam laughed. "He doesn't care about the hair," he confided, "But the drumsticks, they were the last straw."

"Damn right," said Bugs, half-frowning at Adam.

Adam just laughed again and shrugged when Bugs poked him.

They were talking about places they'd been, when the doors to the elevator opened again, and two more guys stepped out.

"Matty!" yelled Brendon, jumping to his feet. "And Avenge!"

"-- it's Dave, really," said Dave, apparently on automatic.

There was another round of greetings as Brendon introduced everyone to his cousin and his band-mate. Matty didn't seem surprised or worried at all at finding them all sprawled out in the corridor. Dave, though, mostly confined himself to murmuring, "No really, it's Dave" every time someone said Avenge. Brendon pulled Matty down to sit with him, and Bugs shoved Adam out of the way so that Dave could sit next to him.

Brendon was telling some tall tale about Matty at Pioneer Trek which had everyone laughing at that end of the group. Bugs though was interrogating Dave, and a few words of the conversation made Spencer shift his attention to them.

"Did you get a new high-hat in the end?" Bugs was asking. "I can't believe Rob broke it. A man's high-hat is sacred."

Dave looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, no," he said, "I couldn't really afford it this month. I figure I'll get one when I get back off the tour."

Spencer raised his eyebrows. "Oh, hey, you're coming out with us?"

"Yeah," said Dave, shyly. "Matty and me have been kind of at a loose end since Crustacean broke up, and when I told Bugs he said he could get us work on the tour. I'm teching for Ellie, you know, the drummer in Toast? They're joining us tomorrow. So, yeah. And Matty is like, doing merch for Toast as well, and some stuff for Adam."

"Oh, your band broke up?" Spencer said, trying to sound sympathetic, but totally unsurprised.

"Yeah," Dave said. He flicked a glance down at Matty, but he was talking, something involving wild hand gestures. "It was kind of awful," he admitted, after a moment. "But really Crustacean was me and Matty, I mean, we wrote all the music and stuff. And Rob was kind of mean, a lot. So."

He shrugged. Bugs nudged him companionably. "He's an awesome drum tech," he told Spencer, making Dave blush. "And I told him, a lot of musicians do tech and stuff when they're figuring out what to do next."

Spencer nodded. "You should ask Jon about that," he told Dave. Dave looked overwhelmed at the thought of asking Jon anything. Spencer figured he'd get over that in about a day.

"It's not what Bugs did," Dave said, and he grinned at Bugs.

"Yeah, well," said Bugs, smoothing down a particularly wild section of hair a little sheepishly.

Adam, who'd been half-listening, started to laugh. "No-one does what Bugs did," he said, grinning. "No-one's even sure if Bugs did what he did, these days, or whether it’s all an urban legend."

"What did Bugs do?" Spencer asked, curiously. That was the cue, apparently, for the whole story of Bugs' stage-crashing youth to come pouring out.

Spencer and the rest of his band were in hysterics by the end of the story. "And you _stayed his manager_ ," Ryan marvelled to Adam, "After all of that?"

Adam shrugged good-naturedly. "Not really, I went back to my own school, we didn't meet again until university. But in the end it was better than being a flute-guy my whole life."

"He's an awesome flute-guy," Bugs said, staunchly. Adam laughed and poked him in the ribs.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Maybe. But I'd be a terrible manager if I didn't tell you all that you should probably go get some sleep. We roll out early tomorrow."

There were some protests, but after Adam and Bugs got to their feet, the party began to break up, everyone drifting down the corridor towards their rooms and calling goodnights. Adam and Bugs disappeared into one room, Bruno and Boots into another.

Spencer raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything. When he went back into his own room, though, he was suddenly confronted with his explosion of belongings again. Renewed glaring still didn't make things fold away neatly. ("You are not Mary Poppins," Ryan told him, seriously, as he somehow folded down his own tangled mass of clothes into a neat pile that could be stacked in one corner of one bag. "Making crankypants faces at your underwear is never going to help.") When he heard the icemaker outside his room rattle, he leapt for the door, hoping to find someone bulky. Instead he found Dave, who made even Brendon look a fine figure of a man.

"Did you want something?" Dave said, looking startled by Spencer's sudden appearance in the corridor. He clutched his ice bucket to his chest.

"Yeah, I…" Spencer started, and then thought better of it. "Um. You're staying here tonight?"

Dave nodded. "Yeah, I have the room next to Matty, at the far end."

"You have your own room," Spencer said slowly, "But all the Fish guys share?"

Dave blinked, and then went pink. "Yeah," he said.

Spencer stared at him. "Well, if you don't need anything," Dave said, shifting nervously. "I'm going to bed."

He waved, almost tipped the ice out onto his feet, and scuttled down the corridor.

Spencer closed his door, and wrinkled his brow thoughtfully.

 

 

**Chapter 2: Everything That Can Go Wrong (Featuring Bruno Walton)**

Saturday: Labbat Centre, London, Ontario

It was Spencer's considered opinion that the first day of the tour was the absolute worst. Worse than that day in the middle when you'd run out of clean clothes, the bottle of your favourite shampoo turned out to be empty when you stepped into the shower, and you had run out things to say even to your closest friends. Worse than the last day, when you were running on fumes and euphoria, torn between joy and misery that it was over. On the first day, everything that could go wrong, did, along with a few things that you didn't even _know_ could go wrong.

He knew all that _before_ he met Bruno Walton. He'd thought he'd seen the worst that a even a first day could throw at a tour; he'd toured with Pete Wentz, after all. It turned out, though, that even Pete's trademark chaos was as nothing compared to the havoc that Bruno Walton and his band- and label-mates could wreak.

His morning started with a desperate phone call from Brendon. "Spencer," Brendon whispered, "Spence. Spencer, you have to save me."

Spencer frowned at his phone. "What can you possibly need to be saved from at eight in the morning?" he said, packing up his toothbrush. "I thought you were taking your bags out to the bus?"

"I was!" Brendon hissed urgently, "But I was _kidnapped by girls_!"

Spencer blinked and pulled the phone away from his ear. He stared at Brendon's name on the display and shook his phone slightly. It didn't change. "What kind of girls?" he said, "Where was Zack?"

"He's here," Brendon said. "Spencer. These are really very scary girls!"

"Brendon!" Spencer said. "What the hell?"

There was a sudden outburst of giggling at the other end of the line, and then Brendon squawked "Help!" faintly and the line went dead.

Spencer stared at his phone. On the one hand, if Zack was there, there was a limit to how much danger Brendon was in. On the other hand...

Spencer's phone rang again. "Yeah, Ryan?" he said.

"The Toast at Midnight girls have Brendon," Ryan reported, his normal monotone threaded with amusement. "They announced he was adorable and that they were stealing him out from under us. Also Zack says you have fifteen minutes or we're leaving without you."

"I'm just leaving now," Spencer said, shoving his shaving kit into his backpack and casting an eye around the room. "I'll be there in five."

He hung up before Ryan could answer, and pushing the door open, wheeling his bags out.

His phone rang again before the door had closed behind him. He wrestled his bags down the corridor to the elevator and pressed the call button before he answered. "For fuck's sake, I'm coming," he said, aggravatedly.

"That's what she said," said Jon. "The support band stole Brendon. Also, I saved you a muffin."

Spencer grinned. "You're a prince among men," he told Jon.

"Uh-huh," Jon agreed, lazily. "I'll grab your bags from you if you'll go save Brendon."

"Why me?" Spencer said.

"Ryan and I are too afraid," Jon replied, laughing, and hung up just as the elevator _dinged_ and the doors opened. Spencer snapped his phone shut and stared the grey-suited businessmen already in the elevator into submission, until they shuffled around and made room for him and his bags. He stepped in and, turning, smirked victoriously at the closing doors.

The chaos in the parking lot when he got out there wiped the smirk off his face. Jon handed him a muffin and stole his bags away. "The Toast bus is over there," he said, pointing to a black tour bus. "Ours is the green one."

Spencer nodded, and took a bite of muffin. "Just so you know," he said, "I hate you."

Jon nodded. "Uh-huh," he said, equably, and wandered off towards the green bus.

Spencer waved in passing at Bugs and Adam, who were standing near a third, red bus. He finished the muffin in two quick bites and threw the wrapper in a trash can as he walked past.

The door to the Toast bus was open, so Spencer went up the steps and peered around the corner. "Hello?" he called. There were five girls sprawled around in the lounge area. Brendon was crushed in one corner next to a tiny Asian girl with black and purple hair who had her legs up on his lap. He made a pleading face at Spencer, but Spencer could see the laughter hovering in his eyes.

A tall, blonde girl turned to look him over. "Yes?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"I've come to retrieve my lead singer," he said, raising his own eyebrow.

The girl looked him over. "Hmmm," she said. She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear.

Spencer flicked his hair out of his eyes. Three of the girls giggled.

"I think he won that round, Dane," the girl next to Brendon said, and swung her legs off his lap. Brendon immediately bounced up and came over to Spencer.

Dane sighed, and then grinned slyly at Spencer. "I concede," she said, "You can have him back."

Spencer grinned back.

"This time!" she added.

Spencer laughed. "I'm Spencer," he said, turning to go back down the stairs. He paused and said: "We have to go, but see you at the venue."

"We'll find you!" one of the girls yelled as they left.

"Both of you!" Dane said, threateningly.

"Bye!" Brendon called, and then grabbed Spencer's arm. They half-tumbled down the steps and then ran across the parking lot to where their bus, and Zack, who was tapping his watch meaningfully, were waiting.

"Oh my god," Brendon said, as they climbed aboard the bus and the door closed with a hydraulic hiss. He threw his arms dramatically around Spencer. "My hero!"

Ryan turned a page in his novel and sipped his coffee. "There were frightening girls, Spence," he told Spencer dryly. "And you weren't here to protect him."

Brendon nodded into Spencer's shoulder, jabbing him with his pointy chin. "There were! It was terrible."

He suddenly sniffed, and let go of Spencer. "Jon, are you eating Gummi Bears?"

"No," said Jon, eating another Gummi Bear.

Brendon pounced. Ryan's coffee sloshed onto his book. A lot of shrieking ensued.

And that was just the _start_ of Spencer's day.

* * *

By the time Panic were on stage for soundcheck, Spencer was ready for the day to be over. Screw the performance, he thought, fidgeting with his seat as Ryan entered into another round of negotiations with the sound guys about his levels. Maybe he'd just climb into his bunk and stay there. They'd arrived at the venue late after they got snarled up in traffic after an accident on the highway. When the tour buses finally arrived at the venue, it was to find that the unloading had gone anything but to plan, something was horribly wrong with the lighting, leading to people crawling around the wiring with electrical tape, and Boots' guitar tech Josh had injured his hand in some unspecified way that had Bruno looking stricken and apologetic. Plus, to top it all off, Spencer had mispronounced "Regina" in the interview he and Boots had phoned in to the local radio station promoting the event.

Spencer huffed out an annoyed breath, and absent-mindedly tapped out a rhythm on his snare.

"Spencer," the sound guy interrupted, "Sorry, can you keep that down?"

Ryan turned to glare at Spencer. He grimaced an apology and set his drumsticks down with exaggerated care. Ryan turned back, and played some random chords.

Spencer looked out over the venue. There were a few kids out in the audience on some kind of pass from the radio station, watching soundcheck, but other than that it was just a big gloomy echoing space. It was hard to believe that in a couple of hours it would start filling up with thousands of people eager for a show.

He sighed, and then jumped, startled, when there was a resounding crash somewhere backstage.

"What the fuck?" said Jon, twirling around so suddenly he almost tripped over a cable snaking across the stage.

There were a couple more, smaller crashes and some swearing and then a man yelled: "It's okay, everyone's okay!"

"Fuck," muttered Spencer. He leaned back on his seat and glanced over at side-stage. Bruno and Boots were standing side-stage having what looked like an argument. Bruno's arms were flailing wildly, and they were hissing at one another urgently. Finally, Boots stepped back, almost cannoning into one of the electricians working on their lighting problem, and said, loud enough for Spencer to hear: "No, you know what, we had this argument two weeks ago, and my answer was no then. My answer is still no now."

He stomped away. "Boots!" Bruno yelled after him. "Fuck it. _Melvin_!"

Boots just waved a hand over his shoulder and kept walking.

Bruno looked furious for a moment, but then looked out towards the stage, and hid it quickly. Spencer raised a hand. Bruno nodded, but then walked off too.

"Spence?" said Brendon, interrupting his thoughts, "You ready?"

Spencer turned around quickly. "What?" he said. His band stared at him expectanty. "Oh! Sorry, I was. Um. Thinking."

"Well, if you're done," Ryan said, the residue of impatience from the prolonged discussions with sound heavy in his voice, "Can we play now?"

Spencer picked up his sticks. "We can," he said.

The music started.... and stopped again.

Brendon turned to look at him. "And maybe this time you could _hit_ the beat," he said.

Spencer glared at him. Brendon half-shrugged in apology, and turned away.

 _Seriously_ , thought Spencer, shifting his shoulders. _Screw the performance._

* * *

Spencer was wandering aimlessly through the backstage area an hour before the show, just calm his first night nerves, when he ran across Dave and Matty. They were hanging out in a corner between stacks of equipment boxes with 'Toast at Midnight' stencilled into the side.

"Hi Spencer!" Matty called. Dave waved too. "Come tell Dave he has to get a tattoo!"

Spencer walked over to join them. "Why does Dave have to get a tattoo?" he said, grinning at them.

"Well," said Matty, nudging Dave with his elbow. Dave frowned at him. "He totally gave up on the awesome name I thought of for him..."

"That was you?" interrupted Spencer.

Matty nodded and beamed proudly. Dave looked long-suffering.

"Yeah, and I _still_ think Avenge is awesome," Matty said, "But since Dave doesn't, I've decided he should get like, really awesome tattoos instead. He needs something _edgy_ , you know? You can't be a super cool drummer without something edgy."

Dave sighed. "I don't like needles," he said, with the air of a man repeating himself for the millionth time. "You know I don't like needles. You were there that time when Roberta Washington brought her mom the qualified acupuncturist into class for Show and Tell."

"You could close your eyes," said Matty, "You wouldn't have to _look_! Right Spencer?"

"Oh, no, I'm not getting involved," Spencer said, hastily, "I have a policy of not commenting on anyone's tattoo choices, ever."

"Oh," said Matty, looking disappointed at the loss of potential support.

"I'm not getting tattooed," said Dave, firmly. "And now I have to go help Ellie set up, and you need to go do the merch thing."

He jumped to his feet, and automatically extended a hand down to Matty to help him up. Matty almost pulled him over levering himself up to standing. They both smiled at Spencer.

"Have a good show," Matty said, Dave echoing him a little more shyly a beat behind.

"Thanks guys," Spencer said.

They started to move away. "How about piercings," Spencer heard Matty say. "You could get your lip pierced. Or your eyebrow, or your..."

Spencer didn't quite catch the last alternative, but caught Dave's flinch and automatic protective gesture.

He started to laugh, and was still laughing when Bruno and Boots came around the corner, shoulders bumping companionably as they walked.

"Hey," Boots said, looking curious as to why Spencer would stand in a corridor laughing at nothing.

"Hi," said Spencer, "How's your crew member? Is it Joe?"

"Josh," Bruno said, "He's fine, two stitches, butterfly bandage, no heavy lifting for a few days."

He looked relieved, and still a little guilty. Boots shifted an inch closer and smiled at him, their earlier argument obviously over.

"Brendon was looking for you," said Boots, "I said I'd send you back if we found you."

Spencer nodded, and set off back.

"Oh, so hey," Boots called after him. "Adam just told me we sold out tonight. We're only doing the small capacity thing here, but still."

"Tom was outside picking up the meet and greet kids," Bruno added, "He said the line is down the block and around the street. They all seem pretty excited, he said."

Spencer felt his lips curl up. "Yeah?" he said.

"Yeah," said Boots. He grinned suddenly. "Being a rock star. Best idea ever?"

Spencer thought about it for half a second. The first day of the tour was always a nightmare, and he always thought, yeah, screw the performance. But still: "Best idea _ever_ ," he said.

 

**Chapter 3: Water Falling Over A Cliff: Only Interesting Once**

  
  


> www.toast @ midnight.net: Ellie's Blog -- Monday
> 
> __**Feathers and Clouds of Water**
> 
> hi girls & guys!
> 
> first of all a huge thank you to EVERYONE who came out for the Windsor show on Sunday night!! i can't tell you how amazing it is to play your home town on a tour like this. we're sorry we couldn't stick around to sign and stuff after the show. believe me we were as mad as you were that security closed off access to the back doors where people normally wait but they told us that because of all the rain it wasn't safe orsomething and then they didn't tell us people were waiting out front. i hope everyone who waited got home okay and didn't get sick after standing in the rain.
> 
> actually you might have got sicker meeting us cause everyone on the tour seems like they are sick right now except me Boots and my drum tech Davy. i can exclusively reveal that bruno walton is the worst sickperson ever and is totally annoying.
> 
> speaking of Davy to all the fifty people who emailed us yes he was the drummer in Crustaseon Sensation and for those of you who asked after maria she had a baby!! and has retired from teching for a couple of years and is teaching drums in her home town oshawa so if any of you are budding drumers you should go get lessons from her and meet my adorable godson jack.
> 
> other than the current state of sniffles this is pretty much the most amazing tour ever so far. you know we love the Fish boys like crazy and its always a blast to be out on the road with them. the panic boys are sooooo much fun too. i dont even think you'd believe some of the stuff that happens backstge because they always look so professional out front. haha if only you knew!
> 
> we had a photo shoot done in london which was the worst timed shoot ever and involved loads of feathers. Donna says omg don't look at her hair which is stupid because now you all will and Lilah sneezed four million times because she is allergic to feathers but i think it turned out pretty good! what do you think?
> 
> [img src="girlsandfeatherswoohoo.jpg"]
> 
> hope we see you all soon on our other dates!
> 
> love, ellie xx
> 
> ps. i took this preeeeeetty photo at the falls today! i am the bestphotographer ever! or maybe that's just the subject matter (pls excuse my thumb in the upper left corner)
> 
> [img src="jwalkatthefalls.jpg"]  
> 

  
  


* * *

  
  
**Monday: Niagara Falls Memorial Arena, Niagara Falls, Ontario**  
  
Spencer was over Niagara Falls about ten minutes after they arrived, but Jon was entranced by it and intent on his camera so there was no hope of a rapid departure. Spencer sighed, and went to sit on a bench, pulling his hoodie over his head to protect his hair from the continual fine spray thrown up by the waterfall. Further down the walkway, Brendon and Ryan were pestering Zack to let them go on the boat thing in spite of the fact that they both had sniffly colds, aided and abetted by two of the girls from Toast at Midnight, Lilah and Katie. Katie, whose dress sense ran towards tiny, vividly coloured tops and giant flowers in her hair, had been an instant hit with Ryan after he found her scrapbook of kimono fabric and fell in love, to Spencer and Jon's mild dismay. ("I don't mind flowers," Jon had said that morning, "But I draw the line at kimonos." Spencer was guessing there would be kimonos by Montreal, if not before.) Lilah and Brendon had bonded when Brendon fell to his knees in front of her after the first show to beg her to show him how to play the kazoo like that. ("There will be no kazoo on our next record," Ryan had said, firmly. "I don't care how good you get at it. It will be a kazoo free zone." Spencer was betting on the kazoo on at least two tracks.) Ellie was following Jon around with her own camera, claiming she was taking lessons from him.  
  
Spencer folded his arms and frowned at the cascading water.  
  
"Your face will stick like that," Dane said, sitting down beside him with an ungraceful thud. She had her own hoodie pulled up over her hair. Spencer narrowed his eyes at her. "Actually, that might be an improvement," she added, and grinned.  
  
Spencer smiled back. Despite her threats, he hadn't actually seen much of her since the first morning. The Toast girls had been whisked off to an interview and photoshoot in London, and in Windsor they'd been surrounded by friends and family all day. He'd only seen them in passing and on the stage, and then he'd mostly been interested in watching Ellie's drumming.  
  
"Donna not with you?" he asked now, though, the one fact he had gleaned from his observation being that Donna and Dane were inseparable best friends.  
  
Dane shook her head. "Seen water falling over a cliff once, seen it a million times," she said with a shrug. "We must have come here twenty times when we were kids. I just needed a break from the bus and the venue and the constant sniffling."  
  
Spencer nodded. The whole tour had, predictably, caught a cold by the time they came off stage in Windsor, with Donna and some of the Toast crew worst affected so far. Bruno was sniffling and cranky, too, but the rest of the Fish guys had just shrugged at breakfast this morning and claimed Bruno was the worst for exaggerating how sick he was. "Every cold is the plague," Boots had said, unconcernedly eating a fried egg sandwich. "And his world is crumbling around him because there is no more orange juice on the bus."  
  
"My world!" Bruno had complained loudly in the distance at that moment. "It is _crumbling around me_!"  
  
Spencer had laughed so hard he almost choked on his muffin. He grinned at the memory. "Bruno was claiming Donna gave him her cold on purpose," he said now.  
  
Dane shrugged. "She probably would have done, if it was possible," she said, arranging the hood of her sweater more carefully over her hair. "Just wait. Bruno isn't even really into his stride yet. By the time we get out to the prairies, you'll be looking for plague rats to let loose on their bus too. At least when he's sick he's relatively subdued."  
  
Spencer blinked at her. Dane laughed in his face. "Here, you can ask Bugs and Adam," she said, as the two of them wandered past, deep in conversation. "Hey, Potter!"  
  
Bugs glanced over. "Hey guys," he said cheerfully. He tugged Adam over to them and sat down on the bench too. "Are you guys cold or something? he asked, eying their raised hoods. He looked doubtfully at his own short-sleeved t-shirt and then up at the hazy sunshine.  
  
"Protecting my hair," Spencer and Dane chorused, and then laughed at each other.  
  
"Dude," said Bugs, his eyes wide, "Protecting it from _what_?"  
  
He looked upward again in alarm, as if expecting giant birds to be overhead.  
  
Adam patted his arm. "Nothing you need to worry about," he said. Bugs looked relieved and ran his fingers through his own hair until it stood straight up on end again. Adam rolled his eyes fondly.  
  
"So, what do you think of Niagara Falls?" Bugs asked, "I think the other guys finally convinced Zack to let them go on the Maid of the Mist."  
  
"Is that the boat?" said Spencer, "Well, that's a mistake."  
  
"Yeah?" said Adam, looking worried. "I told Zack it would probably be okay."  
  
"Ryan gets seasick in the _pool_ ," Spencer said, shrugging. "It's a Vegas thing, I think. We're not used to large bodies of water."  
  
"Oh," said Adam. He looked chagrined. "Sorry, then."  
  
"That's okay," Spencer said, "He just goes green for a while. He'll clash with his shirt, but he'll survive."  
  
Adam looked relieved, and after chatting for a few minutes longer about the Falls, he and Bugs stood up and wandered off. Spencer watched them go, the way they started off walking a foot or so apart, and gradually moved closer until their shoulders bumped and their hands brushed against one another with every step.  
  
"Awww," said Dane, watching them too with a fond expression. "They're so cute."  
  
Spencer turned and raised an eyebrow at her. She promptly raised her own back at him, staring him down until he cracked and started laughing. "You do know about them, right?" Dane said, when they had both recovered. "Adam and Bugs, I mean."  
  
Spencer shrugged and nodded at the same time. "That they're a couple, you mean?" he said, "Yeah, I mean. I heard a couple of things."  
  
Dane laughed. "And you can't have missed the rainbow flags," she said, and Spencer shrugged again.  
  
"No, but, you know," he said uncomfortably. "I don't know all that much about you guys. For all I knew you were just one big gay orgy."  
  
Dane laughed loudly, an embarrassingly huge _hee-haw_ of a laugh, and some middle aged tourists in plaid shorts and blindingly white sneakers turned to stare at them. Spencer unhooked his ridiculously large sunglasses from his shirt and put them on. The tourists looked away hurriedly.  
  
"Well, they could in theory be there for Lilah," Dane said, sitting back again breathlessly. "Although that's one of those secret not-secret things."  
  
Spencer was glad of his sunglasses, because he was pretty sure his eyes had gone wide. "Lilah?" he said.  
  
"Yeah, did you meet Jane in Windsor? She's a lawyer," said Dane, with a crooked grin. "She doesn't come out much with us anymore."  
  
Spencer shook his head.  
  
"Who am I kidding, we probably introduced like forty people to you guys on Sunday," Dane said. She held out a hand about three feet off the floor. "She's like, this tall. Well, okay, a bit taller that that, but shorter than Katie, even, and she's like a little dumpling and she has a million tattoos. We love her to pieces, even though she's a lawyer. She gets Lilah out of her shell like no-one else does. She's going to be out with us when we go through Quebec, I think, so you'll meet her then. But yeah, I mean, the kids who follow us are pretty cool about Lilah and Jane anyway, but it's not really a big thing. The flags and stuff are mostly about Bugs."  
  
"They seem pretty comfortable about it," said Spencer, cautiously, not sure what to say.  
  
Dane nodded. "Well, yeah. I mean, the whole coming out thing was shitty, but that's the industry, you know? Same deal as us. Loads of press for stuff you can't change even if you wanted to and that doesn't really have anything to do with the music."  
  
Spencer nodded. "Anyway, we love them," Dane said, fiercely. "Bugs was the one who discovered us."  
  
Spencer opened his mouth to ask a question, but he was interrupted by first Jon, who arrived with Ellie in tow, claiming she'd been musing on how best to throw him into the Falls so he could take photos on the way down ("It would have been a great photo op!" Ellie protested. "Where's your sense of art, man?") and then by the return of Adam and Bugs, now eating ice cream. They all settled on the benches to exclaim over Jon's photos, which were predictably amazing, and Ellie's, which were... not. Adam and Bugs sat down on the next bench, licking their ice cream cones. Ellie demanded a photo, and they leaned into each other and beamed unselfconsciously at the camera, their heads close together.  
  
Spencer watched thoughtfully until Brendon and Ryan appeared, holding each other up dramatically and distracting him by first demanding that space be freed so they could sit down and recover from sea-sickness, and then that Spencer go buy them ice cream instantly. The ensuing argument over whether or not ice cream was good for sea-sickness consumed all the remaining time until Zack shepherded them back to the venue.

* * *

  
  
A Band Called Fish played in the headline slot that night. Spencer, once he was clean again and in fresh clothes, went to watch them side-stage with Adam. Panic had headlined the last two shows, so this was his first chance to watch them without the distraction of nerves and the need to warm up.  
  
Adam gave him a quick thumbs up as Spencer came to stand next to him, and then leaned in to say close to Spencer's ear: "Good show!"  
  
Spencer nodded back and grinned, and then turned slightly to watch Bugs drumming. He was, if anything, even more mesmerizing than he had been on the stage at the End Note, back when they met for the first time. Playing his own beats, on his own kit, with his own band, he was kind of like an elemental, his wild hair bobbing as he played with his eyes closed.  
  
Adam suddenly leaned close again. "Mine," he said, into Spencer's ear, and then almost doubled over laughing when Spencer turned to stare at him with huge shocked eyes.  
  
Jon appeared behind them and passed Spencer a cold bottle of beer without comment. Adam recovered enough to accept one too, and Jon looked curiously at them when Adam continued to chuckle and Spencer, well-aware he'd turned pink, looked anywhere but at Bugs Potter. The song came to an end. Out at the front of the stage, Bruno leaned on his microphone stand and said: "We're going to slow it all the way down now, and play you a song we call Sleeping." He paused while the audience screamed. "And, yes, Bugs, you really do have to come out from behind the kit and play the tambourine."  
  
Bugs stood up and with the greatest appearance of reluctance, picked up a tambourine. A tech ran on with a stool and a microphone for him. "He hates the tambourine," said Bruno, and the crowd laughed.  
  
"I really do," Bugs said into his microphone. "The tambourine is _not_ the most."  
  
The crowd "awwww'ed". "But he'll play it anyway, or he'll be in trouble," Bruno said, and Bugs laughed and shook his tambourine at him.  
  
"Anyway," Bruno continued, "This song is for everyone in the audience who is here in Niagara on their honeymoon, or with their sweetie."  
  
There were a few shouts and cheers from the audience. "We all resisted the urge to get married today," Bruno continued, "I don't know about those Panic guys though."  
  
Spencer groaned and covered his eyes. He calculated the time it would take for that rumour to reach the internet, develop a life of its own, and then touch down in Vegas. He reached for his phone to text his sister, while on stage Bruno concluded his rambling introduction and started to sing. Jon leaned on Spencer's shoulder and laughed as he grimly composed a message: _not married. keep mom away frm pottry barn gift registry pls._

* * *

  
  
Since their next show was barely an hour away, they went straight from the venue to a hotel in Niagara.  
  
"You guys coming down to the lounge thing?" Ryan asked, as they opened the doors to their rooms. Spencer glanced at Jon, who was his room-mate for the night. Jon shrugged and nodded. "Cool. Katie's coming, too, and Bruno."  
  
"We'll be twenty minutes," Spencer said. "See you down there?"  
  
Ryan nodded and they went into their own rooms.  
  
In the end, it was more like forty minutes by the time they had both taken second showers (venue showers got the worst of the sweat off, but they didn't exactly leave you feeling clean) and Spencer had checked his e-mail and the schedule for the morning. Most of the group had already gathered when they finally made an appearance. The lounge was dimly lit, and tinkly jazz piano music was playing. Spencer rolled his eyes at the looks he and Jon got from the other patrons when they walked in, and headed straight for the loudest and least appropriately dressed group in the lounge. There were about a dozen people in total, including some of the techs.  
  
"Hey," Spencer said, sitting down on the couch next to Dave. "You guys are staying here?"  
  
Dave nodded. "Adam and Bugs swapped with us. They're over at the other hotel."  
  
Spencer blinked at him. Dave shrugged. "They wanted privacy, I guess," he said, blushing a little.  
  
"I think they should get married," said Bruno, over-hearing. "It's Niagara! It's tradition! We could help with that!"  
  
"No," said Boots, absently, picking up his drink and passing one to Bruno at the same time.  
  
"What do you mean, no?" Bruno replied, offended.  
  
"No, there will be no clandestine marriage arrangements for Bugs and Adam," Boots clarified. He looked at Bruno's drink, and then stole the olive-on-a-stick from it. "There will be no marriage committees, no marriage councils, no marriage coalitions. Plans A through Z are hereby banned."  
  
Bruno opened his mouth and then closed it again when Boots pointed the olive-on-a-stick at him. "No," he said.  
  
Bruno frowned. He took a breath. "Absolutely not," said Boots, cutting Bruno off before he could speak. He sucked the olive off the stick and chewed.  
  
Bruno folded his arms and sat back. "Boots, you are no fun at all anymore," he said, and pouted.  
  
Brendon reached over and patted Bruno's shoulder consolingly. "No-one will tell me about the moose, either," he commiserated.  
  
"Brendon," Bruno said, rising to his feet. "Let me buy you a drink so we can drown our sorrows."  
  
Dave laughed as they walked away, and then turned to Spencer. "You guys sounded amazing today," he told Spencer.  
  
Spencer smiled, unable to stop himself from preening a little. "Thanks," he said. He looked around. "No Matty?"  
  
Dave grinned. "Too young, they won't let him in," he said. "He doesn't turn nineteen for another two weeks. I only came down for a half an hour while he was on the phone with his mom."  
  
Spencer boggled at him. "You're older?" he asked.  
  
"Eight weeks older. I know, I'm so short," he said, ruefully, his cheeks pink.  
  
"You're tiny and adorable," Ellie corrected from the next sofa. "I know. I saw it on the internet."  
  
Dave turned even brighter red. Ellie laughed at him. "Um," said Dave.  
  
"Who's tiny and adorable?" Brendon said, handing Spencer a glass of amber liquid and dropping into the space beside him on the sofa. "Are we talking about me again? I think we should, even if we weren't."  
  
Bruno sat down next to Boots again, offering him a tiny dish of olives without a word. "Can you play the tambourine?" he asked Brendon. "Because then we could talk about you coming on to play on Sleeping, and doing backing vocals. I'm singing it without at the moment."  
  
"I can!" Brendon said, excitedly. "Let's talk about that."  
  
Spencer sat back to watch Brendon and Bruno as they made up ever more elaborate ways for Brendon to come in and sing and play the tambourine. He was about to break into the conversation at the point where Brendon had decided he should be lowered in from the ceiling, when his phone, Ryan's, Brendon's and Jon's all signalled the arrival of a text message at once. Spencer pulled out his phone curiously, glancing over the text message quickly. He groaned.  
  
 _who do i congrtlate?_ Pete's message read, _and where do i send teh flowers_.  
  
Ryan checked his watch. "Who had four hours?" he said, dryly. One of the Panic techs whooped, and people around his table slapped their foreheads and pulled out bills.  
  
Spencer groaned and pulled out a ten dollar bill himself, passing it down the table. Boots looked at him interrogatively. "Remind me never to introduce Bruno to Pete Wentz," was all Spencer said.  
  
Jon looked awed at the thought. "The universe would _implode_ ," he said.  
  
"Ooh," said Brendon, the idea obviously appealing.  
  
Spencer pointed at him. "No," he said.  
  
"But..." started Brendon.  
  
"Absolutely not," said Spencer.  
  
Brendon subsided, pouting. Boots sat up and high-fived Spencer. "Welcome to the Committee for the Suppression of Insane Plans," he intoned, as he sat back. "Your welcome pack is the in the mail."  
  
"Ha!" said Bruno, rebelliously. "I have barely begun!"  
  
Spencer and Boots met each other's eyes. Silently, they toasted one another and downed their drinks. "And God help us," Boots said, he voice rough from the alcohol.

 

 

**Chapter 4: There's No Place Like Home (Shame About The Wicked Witch)**

CanadianRockReview.net

A Band Called Fish/Panic at the Disco/Toast at Midnight, Copps Coliseum, Hamilton

 

Hamilton, ON.: It was hard to say whether the audience or the performers were more colourful when the three-band Bandits Are Welcome Here On Cloud Nine tour arrived at Copps Coliseum on Tuesday night. The fanciful "Cloud Nine" staging used by the co-headliners Panic at the Disco and Ontario-boys-made-good A Band Called Fish was almost overshadowed by the mass of banners, flags and the outfits of the young men and women out in the audience. This riot of colour set the tone for the whole evening, which saw all three bands put in good performances but remained ultimately remained a somwhat insubstantial affair.

All-girl band Toast at Midnight put in a solid if uninspired performance, starting the night off with their breakout single Puddles and Rainbows, before working their way through some of their lesser known tracks during their forty minute set and finishing with rock ballad Fly Too Low, taken from their new album of the same name. Dane Bjornsson, perhaps better known for her appearances in the tabloids this year, was in good voice and if the technical proficiency of the band was not quite to the standard of the later acts it still showed a marked improvement over their last tour.

Second on stage, co-headliners A Band Called Fish got the biggest cheer of the night and the rainbow flags, many with messages for Bugs Potter, the band's openly gay drummer, came out in force. The band played a mix of old favourites and songs from their new album. As always, Potter's virtuoso performance on the drums almost overshadowed the lighter-weight musical skills of his band-mates, although the combination of Boots O'Neal's sometimes ambiguous lyrics and Bruno Walton's mellow vocals was a big crowd-pleaser.

Panic at the Disco suffered some initial technical difficulties when they came on stage, with lead singer Brendon Urie, who had already stepped on stage to support A Band Called Fish with backing vocals and tambourine on their rendition of current single Sleeping, struggling with a malfunctioning microphone. To their credit, they handled the interruption smoothly, and quickly got back on track, offering a selection of songs from both their first and second albums, more heavily weighted towards their recent 60s inspired album Pretty. Odd. Urie demonstrated how much his vocal control has improved with the new album, while Jon Walker and Spencer Smith, playing bass and drums respectively, provided stand-out musical support in the rhythm section.

Overall, the bands provided good value for money with a show that no doubt pleased the primarily teenage audience both for the visuals (A Band Called Fish name-checked Hamilton-based artist Chris Talbot as their set designer) and the music, but left a more mature audience wanting more substance and depth.

Rating: 4/5 - All the fun of the fair: cheerful, colourful, and as substantial as cotton candy.

 

Thursday/Friday: Ottawa, ON

Spencer woke up on the first morning in their hotel in Ottawa with a startled blink. The light creeping through the gap he'd accidentally left in the curtains was bright, and the clock, when he glanced over, read 1:20pm. He sat up and was halfway through cursing his band for letting him oversleep when he remembered: it was their day off.

He sank back against the pillows with a pleased sigh, and then stretched luxuriously. Just as he was beginning to weigh up the merits of more sleep versus ordering room service, his Sidekick buzzed gently, indicating a new message. He reached over and flipped it open, raising his eyebrows over the fact that he had somehow missed eight messages since he crashed out in bed the night before.

The first four were from Brendon. ellie is taking me & kati & ryan to see mounties! call if u want 2 come 2, the first read, followed shortly after by i guess u are not awake. call me l8r if u want 2 meet up w/ us. The next was a photo message of Brendon standing with three Mounties, grinning like an utter tool. The last one read: ryan is buying kimonos! :D i am not sposed to tell u act surpised when u c them. Spencer snorted a laugh, sent back a crude comment about Brendon and the Mounties, and moved on. The next two messages were from Jon (call when u are awake. i decided to nap not shop) and Ryan (bden is a tool omg they will nvr let us in canada agn). Spencer tapped out a quick message to each of them, suggesting lunch to Jon and just sending back ahahahaha to Ryan.

The last two new messages were the most surprising. I have lost Dave (Brown)! Please call me if you find him! Thank you! Love, Matty read the first one. The second was an invitation from Bugs. want to come over to our house? laundry, drum kits, bbq (by adam, cause he doesnt let me play with fire)? Bugs :).

Spencer grinned. The first thing he'd learned when they started touring was to never turn down a chance to do laundry. He sent back a quick reply, and then swung his legs off the bed and padded towards the shower.

 

A couple of hours later, he and Jon were standing on the doorstep of a house in suburban Ottawa. Spencer looked doubtful. "This is definitely the address?" he asked Jon, glancing around the neighbourhood as Jon pressed the doorbell.

Jon looked down at his piece of paper. "Either that or we're going to have to pretend we're selling Girl Scout cookies," he said. "Or want to tell them about God."

Spencer looked down at himself, and then at Jon. "Yeah, because that would be convincing," he said.

Jon shrugged. "We could offer to sell them Girl Scouts?" he suggested.

Luckily, the door swung open at that moment to reveal not, as Spencer feared, a Canadian housewife, but Bugs, grinning widely at them. "Hey, you found us okay then?" he said, and beckoned them into the house. "Come on, you can start your laundry. We already did ours."

"Is this your subtle way of telling us we smell?" Jon said, as he followed Spencer through the door.

Bugs laughed. "I don't really do subtle," he said. "Ask Adam."

He ushered them through the house, pointing out items of interest here and there. "Our first gold record," he said, pointing at the commemorative disk mounted on the wall, and then to a framed photo nearby "Oh, and that's me with Distant Distortion, I'm friends with their drummer Brad, he's the guys with the like, horn things. Do you know their stuff? It's the most."

Spencer shook his head, but Bugs didn't seem to notice. "They're here," he called out as he passed a partly-open door into what looked like the kitchen, "I'm taking them into the basement!"

There was some kind of muffled acknowledgement from behind the door, but Bugs didn't stop.

They clattered down the stairs to the basement and came to a stop in a small laundry room. Spencer immediately dumped out his bag and began to sort his clothes into piles.

"Adam is pissed," Bugs told them. "He picked up some new reviews and he's been ranting ever since."

Jon paused in the process of emptying out his own bag. "Bad?" he said, with a glance over at Spencer. All the stuff they'd been sent had been positive or pretty neutral so far.

Bugs shrugged. "Some stupid reviewer managed to hit every single one of Adam's pet peeves in one review, I guess," he said, without apparent concern. "All but called us a teenie band, talked about the gay thing. Whatever."

"You don't care?" Spencer asked, remembering some of Ryan and Brendon's reactions to reviews in the past.

"I just want to play, man," Bugs said, tapping out a quick beat on the lid of the washing machine. "Fish is the best thing that's ever happened to me, other than meeting Adam and ooh, Bibi Lanay, can't forget about her. So I don't really care what anyone else thinks."

He waited until Spencer had shoved a load of clothes into the washing machine, and then set it going. "Here, come see."

He nudged Spencer towards a door in the wall. Spencer opened it, and looked in to a large room, filled with instruments, scattered sheets of music and lyrics and recording equipment.

"You have a recording studio in your basement," Jon said. "Cool."

"Yeah," said Bugs, beaming proudly. "It's soundproofed and everything. We put it together when we were writing our second album, and we wrote all of the third album here. It's awesome, so long as you don't do your laundry at the same time as you're recording. Vibrations, you know? They make it through the soundproofing."

Spencer stepped over to one corner where Bugs' drum kit was set up. "Can I?" he said, glancing over at Bugs.

"Dude, yes, of course," Bugs said. He pulled a pair of drumsticks out of his back pocket and offered them to Spencer with a grin. He took them and seated himself behind the kit.

Jon sat down at the piano and picked out a few notes.

Adam appeared in the door carrying bottles of beer. "Ryan just called," he said, passing bottles around. "They're coming over when they're done sightseeing."

He dropped into the sofa in one corner of the room, and Bugs followed, collapsing next to him. Adam pulled him around so he was leaning with his back against Adam's chest, Adam's arm looped around his upper body. "Man, it's good to be home, even for a day," Bugs said, wriggling into a more comfortable position. The faint frown that had been hovering on Adam's brow faded.

Spencer looked away. "Did Brendon send you that photo of him with the Mounties?" Jon asked, catching his eye.

"He's going to get arrested for molesting a police officer," Spencer said, sighing.

"They didn't look like they minded," Jon replied, waggling his eyebrows, and Spencer rolled his eyes.

"Did you guys get a weird message from Matty?" Spencer asked, turning to Adam and Bugs.

"That he'd lost his Dave and please return him to his rightful owner?" Adam said, grinning and swallowing another sip of beer. "Those two are adorable."

"What's the story with their band?" Spencer asked, curiously.

Adam made a face. "They won't really say," he said. "Something went down between their bass player and Dave, and he took off, or Matty kicked him out, I don't know. And then their guitar player took off too, and took some of their money at the same time, some cash they'd just been paid."

Bugs nodded. "We don't really know the details," he said, "But I was emailing Dave asking when and where they were playing next, and he finally admitted the band had broken up and then like, eventually, when I had bugged him enough, said he and Matty were broke and sleeping on someone's floor."

Adam nodded. "They're good kids, and I'm pretty sure they're going to be good song-writers one day," he said, "So we called Bruno, and he called in a favour from an old friend, this lawyer called Cathy, and got them somewhere to sleep and started making sure they own their music free and clear."

Jon smiled. "So you're like their fairy godfathers?" he asked, and then held up his hands in apology when Bugs and Adam glanced at each other and started laughing. "Yeah, sorry, bad phrasing."

"I guess," said Adam, sobering. "They're pulling their weight on the tour, though."

Jon and Spencer nodded. "And it'll be a great story to tell MuchMusic," Bugs added, "When they've got a band again. I've got some ideas who to hook them up with if they don't find someone themselves."

Spencer opened his mouth to answer, but two things happened at once: a light started flashing over the door, and the buzzer in the laundry room went off to let them know the laundry was done.

Bugs swung his legs off the sofa and stood up. "That's the doorbell," he said, pointing at the flashing light. "Your guys must be here."

"And your laundry's done," Adam said, accepting Bugs's hand and allowing himself to be pulled out of the embrace of the sagging sofa. "Come on, I'll start the barbecue."

Spencer went to deal his the laundry while everyone else headed up the stairs. He grinned to himself when he heard Brendon exclaim: "Oh my god Jon, I saw so many Mounties. If only there were moose here my life would be complete!"

"He felt up so many Mounties, he means," Ryan countered, loudly, and Spencer laughed into his wet laundry.

"Where's Spencer?" Brendon said, and then, in response to an answer Spencer couldn't hear, came to the top of the basement stairs and yelled: "Spencer, Spencer, come upstairs! You have to see what Ryan bought us!"

 

By the same time the following day, their day of rest had retreated to a distant memory. The bands had been booked on what felt like a hundred interviews. It was A Band Called Fish's home town show, so Panic had had to take on some of the local promotion as well while the Fish guys entertained family and friends.

"Spencer," said Brendon, throwing himself down beside Spencer in their dressing room when they were eventually released from interview hell. "Spencer Smith, you are my only hope."

Spencer looked at him skeptically.

"I am close to death," Brendon told him, pressing his hand to his forehead and leaning hard on Spencer's shoulder. "Please, tell me I never have to answer another question about my musical influences ever again."

Spencer patted his knee. "Only another four and a half thousand times. This week," he said.

Brendon emitted a sad, wailing noise, and burrowed closer into Spencer. "You smell nice," he said, after a moment. "Actually you smell kind of like cookies. Why do you smell like cookies?" He sniffed Spencer loudly.

"Stop sniffing Spencer and come play with us while Fish soundcheck," said Katie, barrelling in the room. She stopped, and looked thoughtful. "Or, share," she added.

Brendon clutched at Spencer. "No!" he said. "He's mine, mine, all mine," he protested.

Katie narrowed her eyes at Brendon. "Or, you could take one sniff," Brendon said, cowed.

"No-one will be sniffing me," said Spencer, with some attempt at dignity as he stood up.

"Spoilsport," said Katie, and dropped into his vacated place on the sofa with a much louder thud than such a tiny girl should have been able to produce. Brendon curled up around her. Spencer glared at them both, and then left the room while they both giggled.

Outside of the dressing room, the noise from the stage where A Band Called Fish were soundchecking was more audible, and Spencer grinned when he recognised the drum part from Lying, which Spencer had played for Bugs the previous evening.

He was just debating whether to go side stage and mock, when he walked into Dave.

"Oh, hey," said Spencer, reaching out a steadying hand to Dave's shoulder. "Did Matty find you yesterday?"

Dave turned bright red. "Oh my god," he said. "Tell me he didn't text you too."

Spencer shook his head. "Can't say that," he said, sympathetically. Dave groaned.

Matty chose that moment to appear around the corner. His face lit up with a huge smile, and he threw his arm around Dave when he joined them. Dave gave him a look that should have incinerated him.

"Did you see?" Matty exclaimed. "He vanished yesterday because he went to get a piercing!"

He frowned at Dave. "I still don't understand why you didn't invite me though," he added, with a suspicion of a pout.

Spencer blinked. "I thought you were afraid of needles," he said to Dave.

Dave, who had paled to almost a normal skin tone, flushed again. He muttered something incoherent.

"Yeah," said Matty, cheerfully, "That why he was gone so long. He sort of fainted...."

"I passed out in a manly way, really," interjected Dave.

"... at the mall," continued Matty, ignoring the interruption, "And one of the like, nine year old girls in line with their moms panicked and called 911 on her cellphone, and the mall made him get checked out by the ambulance that came in case he banged his head and was going to sue."

Dave covered his face with his hands.

"The mall?" asked Spencer, amused.

"It was cheap," said Dave, his voice muffled by his hands. "They did it half price because I only wanted one ear done."

Matty brushed Dave's hair back proudly and showed Spencer the silver stud Dave had in his ear lobe.

"Very edgy," said Spencer, dryly.

Matty beamed at him, and hugged Dave closer. Dave glared at them both, and stomped off.

"Hey!" Matty yelled after him, "Wait, I didn't tell you my new idea. How do you feel about dying your hair?"

He smiled at Spencer, and then rushed after Dave, calling his name.

Spencer was still standing there grinning when Fish came off stage, accompanied by Adam. "I don't know whether I love Ottawa shows because everyone we know is here to see us or hate them for exactly the same reason," Boots was saying.

"Love, right Spencer?" said Bruno, immediately, grinning at Spencer. He caught Boots' arm. "Home town shows are awesome!"

"Because you get to see me, I hope," said a woman, appearing behind Bruno and Boots in the corridor. Spencer blinked at her. She seemed vaguely familiar, her multi-coloured hair and claw-like highly polished nails setting off a spark of memory.

Boots stiffened. His glance at Bruno was dark enough to make Bruno flinch. They both turned around slowly. "Crystal," said Bruno, sounding less then thrilled to see her. Spencer suddenly made the connection. He'd seen one of her videos on MTV.

"Bruno," she said, smiling in a way Spencer immediately recognized from occasional encounters with Ryan's ex-girlfriends. "Melvin. David. Adam."

Boots said nothing, just pulled away from Bruno's casual grasp on his arm and, turning, walked away. Bugs threw Bruno an angry look and followed, catching up with Boots and throwing an arm over his shoulder as they headed towards the dressing room.

"Not very polite," said Crystal, sounding amused. She turned to Spencer. "Hello, you must be from Panic at the Disco. I like your work."

She held out a hand to Spencer in a way that made him think she expected him to kiss it. He just touched it instead, barely squeezing it before he let go again.

Bruno's smile was sickly. "Let's go through here and talk," he said, pointing to a door. "Since that's what you wanted."

Crystal smiled triumphantly. Bruno nodded to Spencer, and they moved away through the door in silence.

Spencer blinked once the door had swung shut behind them. "What just happened?" he asked Adam.

"That," Adam said, with a twist to his lips that Spencer had never seen before. "That would be the shit hitting the fan."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then, because I am ridiculous, I abandoned the main story and just wrote about the OCs Matty & DaveReally for a while.

Dave met Matty on the second day of second grade, and his life was never the same again.

The first day of second grade had been pretty ordinary, for a first day. The parts in class seemed to go on a really long time but recess seemed very short. Dave wasn't sure he liked Mrs Willis, his new teacher, very much. She was tall and skinny and pointy, and nothing like soft, comfortable Miss Lim from first grade with her shiny black hair. They got given new books though, and Dave's friend Pete had let him have a chocolate at lunch, and Dave himself had awesome new sneakers that his mom had let him pick.

The second day, Pete wasn't around at lunch because he had to go to the dentist. Dave kind of wandered around by himself for a while, because it was really Pete who was friends with the guys they played ball with at recess, and Dave had never worked out how to go over and ask to play when Pete wasn't there. He ended up just standing around, watching the guys kick a ball around and wishing the ball would roll his way so he could kick it and join in. Just as he was steeling himself to maybe walk over, a boy suddenly ran around the corner at full speed and ran into him, knocking him into the wall of the building with horrible squishy sounding thud.

An hour later, after Dave had been made to lie down in the nurse's room, and the blood had been mopped off his face and a huge bandaid stuck on his forehead, he was allowed to go back to the class-room. Mrs Willis tsked at him when he opened the door and crept in, and told him to go sit down. Dave smiled wanly at Pete, who stared at his bandaid in awe. When he went to sit down at his desk, though, he caught the eye of another boy, one of the three new kids in the class, whose desk was behind Dave's. He was staring at Dave with huge sad eyes. Dave stared back, and the kid put his hand to his forehead and winced dramatically.

Dave blinked at him and sat down. Mrs Willis went back to droning at them about numbers. His head started to ache.

"Psst," the boy behind Dave whispered.

Mrs Willis shot a look in their direction, and told everyone to take out their workbooks. "Pssst," the boy hissed again.

Dave half-turned. The boy handed him a pencil with a troll on the end, pink fuzzy hair caught in a bow, and a rolled up note. Dave stared at the boy, and then at the little pink-haired troll. He unrolled the note.

"SORRY I RAN INTO YOU," it said. "MATTY XX"

Mrs Willis bustled over at that moment. "Get your books out," she said, sharply, "Come on, haven't got all day."

Dave dove into his desk, looking for his book. As he laboured through the number problems on the first page, he kept glancing at the troll pencil. What kind of boy, he found himself wondering, knocked you over at recess and then gave you a pink troll pencil?

He smoothed the note out again, and re-read the name. He looked over to where Matty was sitting, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he wrote an answer in his book.

Matty looked up and caught Dave watching.

He grinned, and Dave, head still pounding, nine number questions to do and a pink troll pencil in his hand that Pete was staring at in horror, grinned back.

\---

"And that was the day I lost my mind," Dave told Bugs when he asked how he and Matty met.

"That was the day I lost my heart," Matty corrected him, throwing an arm around Dave's shoulder. "He was so tiny! And adorable," he added, dodging Dave's inevitable elbow jabs, "And I knocked him over and made him cry. I felt like the meanest person in the world."

"I didn't cry," Dave said with as much dignity as he could muster, trying to push Matty's arm off his shoulder. "I didn't think you were mean. Just that you had big feet and were a giant klutz."

Matty pouted. "I gave you my very favourite pencil," he said, his voice filled with mock hurt. Even though he knew Matty was faking, Dave softened against his will. Matty took advantage, and hugged Dave to him again.

Dave just smiled down at his hands. That was the day I lost my heart, he thought, not for the first time. But he didn't say anything, just let himself relax into Matty's side.

Adam grinned at them both as he came to sit next to Bugs. "You're going to end up telling that story a million times," he predicted. "Just wait until we get into promotion. Your first album, it's just a million tiny interviews where you tell the same three stories over and over. How'd you meet? Where did your band's name come from? Who are your musical influences?" He rolled his eyes.

Matty squeezed Dave tighter for a second. "First album," he echoed, a note of awe in his voice. "Wow."

Bugs leaned his head onto Adam's shoulder. "Remember being this excited?" he asked, and Adam laughed and slumped down a little closer to Bugs.

"You're always this excited," he complained. "About everything."

When they smiled at each other, Dave ached, just a little, a complicated burst of wanting what they had and loving Matty and a sort of fizzing excitement mixed with sheer terror about The Album. Matty, always way more sensitive to Dave's moods than he had any right to be, rubbed his shoulder, and Dave sighed, and let himself lean just a little bit longer.

\-------------------

The year they turned seventeen, Dave decided that he must have done something terrible to offend the gods.

First his mom lost her job when the company she worked for suddenly went bankrupt. He did his best, but he just didn't know what to do or say on the nights when he'd find her slumped over a page full of numbers, her eyes still damp and her hair snarled up from clutching at it. The worst part was, the one thing he could have done, he couldn't quite bring himself to do. The only thing he had worth selling was his drum kit, but he'd worked so hard to save enough to buy it and he loved it so much, and it hurt so much to think about not playing, about not being in Matty's stupid band... he just couldn't give it up.

In the end, it turned out okay because his mom got a new job, and the hours were better even if she didn't like her new boss as much. Still, there were weeks where he felt like the lowliest worm in the world, because when it came to the crunch, he'd picked his drums over his mom. He told her once, and she just laughed and ruffled his hair, and told him she never would have let him sell his kit. But still. It bothered him that he hadn't offered, that he hadn't at least tried.

The second thing that happened was really more what didn't happen. Dave had pretty much resigned himself to being the shortest guy in class -- hell, half the girls were bigger than him -- but only because for all his life he'd been told he'd probably grow when he got to sixteen or seventeen. So, even knowing that his mom was pretty tiny, and that his dad had apparently been short too, not that he'd ever seen him, he had this idea, somehow, that he'd hit sixteen and grow and grow and grow. And he did, a bit, but everyone else just grew more, until he was left behind for good. Even Matty, who'd always been closer to his height than most, suddenly shot up in a sprawl of legs and arms, and was always complaining that his pants were too short and there was a breeze around his ankles. Dave could have hated him for that, if he hadn't been Matty.

"Napoleon was short," Matty offered, hopefully, when Dave stared dolefully at the height markers they'd scratched into Matty's doorframe over the years.

"Napoleon was a megalomaniac," Dave pointed out, and dropped onto Matty's bed with a thud. "And died in exile."

Matty looked deflated. He sat down next to Dave. "I heard Jenny say that she thinks you're adorable," he offered, after a minute.

Dave fell back so he was lying on top of Matty's familiar blue comforter, and sighed. "Adorable," he said. "Great. Me and puppies."

Matty patted Dave's hand, and opened his mouth to say something. Before he could though, his phone rang. He stretched across Dave to reach for the receiver.

And this was his final problem, Dave thought, as Matty leaned against him and said, "Joanna! Hi!" with a bright smile. Because this year, the year they were seventeen, was the year that girls had started noticing Matty. So far this year, Dave had had to endure a dozen stupid my-friend-likes-your-friend conversations, five girls asking him for Matty's number, and three double dates with friends of the girls Matty was going out with, all of which had been disasters. He was just glad the friend-of-Matty's-girlfriend he'd accidentally pushed into the lake on their "romantic" outing went to a different high school from them, because he'd never have lived that down.

"I'm just hanging out with Dave," Matty was saying now, throwing him a grin. He frowned into the phone. "Oh. Well, I didn't know you could have come over. And Dave always comes over Saturdays."

The distant girl's voice rose and fell, and Dave closed his eyes. If the attempts to fix him up were bad, the girls who just hated him were even worse. He listened to the bubble of Matty's fish tank instead of Joanna's tinny voice, imagining Matty's eighteen fish (all called Jim) swimming around the crazy fish landscape Matty and Dave had made for them three summers ago. Maybe next time around he could come back as a fish. It wouldn't be a bad life, swimming around in an aquarium full of weird GI Joe montages and fantastic Lego castles, calling everyone you met Jim.

Matty's conversation was winding up with some kind of semi-aggrieved agreement to go to the mall in a couple of hours, and he finally hung up with a sigh. "Geez," he said. "Girls. Why do I bother?"

Dave opened his eyes again, but just shrugged. "Hormones?" he suggested, and poked Matty in the stomach. Matty laughed, grabbing his wrist to fend him off, and collapsed on the bed next to him, his head almost on Dave's shoulder. They lay like that for a minute or two, quiet except for the sound of their breathing, the gentle ripple of water in the fishtank and the distant sound of Matty's mom singing along to the radio in the kitchen.

Finally Matty moved, snuffling noisily into Dave's t-shirt sleeve. "I don't know why girls get so worked up about how much time I spend with them versus with my other friends," he said. "Girls are so weird."

Dave just hummed out a breath, and Matty subsided again, nose pressed firmly to Dave's upper arm, one hand circling Dave's wrist as if he'd forgotten he was holding it.

"Yeah, girls are weird," Dave said, and closed his eyes again.

Oh yes, the gods definitely hated him.

\--------------------------------

The last show they played as Crustacean Sensation was memorable for all the wrong reasons.

The rain beat down relentlessly on them as they drove towards their last-but-one gig on the tour and the van's pathetic heating was barely keeping up. Matty was sick with a cold he just couldn't seem to shake, and spent the day coughing miserably in the back seat, shivering even though he was wearing everything he owned and Dave's biggest hoodie too. Dave bought him a giant box of kleenex and a coffee with the last of his emergency cash, and tried to get the other guys to shut up so Matty could take a nap when their fifteen millionth argument broke out an hour away from Toronto.

But, "Fuck off, Dave," was all Rob would say, sneering, when he asked them to be quiet for just a little while.

"Fuck off yourself," Dave said, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. "Seriously, just fuck right off."

"Yeah, you'd like that, if it was just you and Matty," Rob spat out. "Well, you need a fucking bass player--"

"And a guitar player," Damian broke in, choosing to agree with Rob for the first time in a month just so he could get on Dave's nerves, apparently.

"-- so just fuck off," Rob finished, as if Damian hadn't spoken.

Dave bit his lip, hard, and said nothing. Rob smirked, Dave catching it out of the corner of his eye in the rear view mirror.

"Dave," Matty said, sounding confused, and then he coughed. "Davy? Are we almost there?"

"Daaaavy," mimicked Rob, meanly, under his breath.

Dave ignored him. "Yeah, another forty minutes," he called back. "You okay?"

Matty sat up. He looked waxen, spots of colour high on his cheeks. "Yeah, I don't know," he said, uncertainly. "Was there a lot of yelling? I don't know, I was dreaming."

Dave shrugged. "There was," he said, soothingly, "It's fine, go back to sleep."

Matty obediently lay back down, coughing a bit more and curling up. Rob and Damian shifted around too, falling mercifully silent except for the tinny rumble of Rob's headphones, and Dave stared straight ahead at the road, consciously trying to relax.

* - * - *

Four hours later, they were reloading the van almost silently. The show had been a disaster. Matty's voice was barely a hoarse whisper, Damian had been out of tune, out of time and out of temper and Rob.... Rob had just been Rob, too busy showing off to some skanky girl in the pit to play the right song, for God's sake. Dave half threw an amp into the van. "Hey, watch it!" Rob bellowed. "Fuck, Dave, you fucking cunt, don't throw our fucking kit around."

His face was red and angry, and his fists were already clenched. Everyone in the crowd had laughed at him when Matty had stopped singing, or trying to sing, when Rob had gone so disastrously wrong. He'd tried to cover it with a little joke at Rob's expense even as he swayed and clutched the mike stand. Rob hated being laughed at, hated it worse than he hated Dave, though right now it was a close run thing. Out of the corner of his eye, Dave could see Damian, his eyes wide, and Matty, struggling to stand up from where he'd perched, still shivering, on a low concrete wall by the back stairs of the venue.

"Fuck," said Rob again, when Dave said nothing. "Fuck you anyway," he said, and he turned and threw the high-hat he was carrying into the wall. The huge crash seemed to reverberate around them.

"What the hell--!" Dave started, and he turned and would have thrown a punch at Rob, if Matty hadn't come from nowhere and wrapped his arms around him.

"No, no," Matty said urgently into his ear, even as Damian hastily stepped between them. "Dude, seriously, he's got like thirty pounds on you, I don't care about the drummer muscles."

Rob made an enraged noise, but let Damian push him away. "I'm done," he yelled, face growing even darker with blood. "I'm done with you and your fucking band and your, your fucking you."

He reached into the van and grabbed his duffel bag and his bass, and stalked out of the squalid little alley where they'd parked, pausing at end, undecided which way to go.

"Don't come back," Matty shouted after him harshly. "You were playing the wrong fucking song, Rob, don't bother coming back." Rob didn't look back, just turned right and walked away with huge strides.

Damian turned to look at him. "Are you fucking stupid?" he yelled, and Matty flinched away. "How are you going to get him back? What if he really is gone? Where are we going to get another bass player before Tuesday? What are we going to do now?"

Dave and Matty just stared at him as he unleashed the volley of questions, and he turned and kicked blindly at a box nearby, squawking with pain when the petulant strike hurt his toes. Without another word, he stomped back up the back stairs and into the club, leaving Dave propping up Matty, who was drooping alarmingly after all the excitement.

"Damian," Dave called, "Damian, where the hell--!" But Damian just gave him the finger, and walked into the club. Dave stared at him, and then down at the high-hat, broken and crumpled on the ground.

"I don't feel so good," Matty said into Dave's ear suddenly, and Dave could believe it. Matty was limp and heavy against him, damp with perspiration in the cold night, his breath wheezing in and out of his lungs.

"Have you got any money?" Dave said, a little desperately, and Matty shivered, and shook his head, confused.

"Pockets, maybe?" he said, and Dave, taking that as permission, stuck a hand in Matty's front pocket, extracting a crumpled ten dollar bill.

"Okay, all right," he said, and he steered Matty around in a careful circle. "Let's just. Let's just get you something hot to drink, okay? You'll feel better, and there was like, a diner thing across the street. Just let me... Okay, let me just sit you down here."

He helped Matty back into his perch on the wall, and ran around feverishly for a moment, throwing their stuff in the back of the van hastily, barely sparing a glance for his ruined high-hat. When he turned back to Matty, he found him even paler, shaking with cold.

"Okay, up you get," he said, helping Matty to his feet. He guided Matty's faltering steps across the road, trying not to splash his feet in the enormous puddles left over from the day's heavy rain. They staggered into the diner, which was half-empty and had a sort of stale, smelly warmth to it that was almost as repelling as it was comforting. He dumped Matty in a booth, and ordered grilled cheese and coffee for them both, before whispering to Matty that he was going to go back in and get the money from the club manager that they were owed.

His run back through the puddles was in vain though. "What do you mean, you gave the money to the other guy?" he said, half hysterically. The guy shrugged, and his huge handlebar moustache twitched up and down as he smirked.

"Your guitar player, he said he'd take it," he said.

"Well, where is he now?" Dave said, turning and looking around the club. There weren't many people around, maybe thirty, and he couldn't see Damian anywhere.

"Took off," the guy said, "Look, are we done? I have things to do."

"Yeah, yeah," said Dave, distractedly, "Yeah, sorry, man."

He ran back outside, hoping against hope Damian would be out in the van, waiting, with their money. He wasn't. His stuff wasn't there either when Dave, groaning, flung open the door, remembering too late that he hadn't locked it before they went over to the diner. Damian's guitar and bag were gone, but, thank god, not his and Matty's stuff. He was just turning away when he saw the piece of paper stuck to the visor on the driver's side.

"I'M DONE 2," the note said, and Dave suppressed a little noise at the sight of Damian's stupid fucking text speak that he even used on paper. "SRY. TOOK THE REST FOR BUS MONEY."

The note was wrapped around $40 in bills, which Dave quickly folded and stuffed into his back pocket. He glanced around the van, quickly covering up the last of their equipment and bags before closing and locking the door.

This time he didn't run back to the diner, his brain just a whirl of oh god, what do I tell Matty, and do we just go home? and what do I do? what do I DO?.

Matty, at least, was where he'd left him, curled over a steaming mug, his colour a little healthier now he was finally getting warm.

Dave slid into the seat beside him. "Hey," he said, and then stopped, hopelessly.

Matty opened his eyes and stared at him. "Damian too?" he said, and Dave nodded slowly.

Matty closed his eyes again, and Davy watched the waitress behind the counter start to wipe some glasses with a dirty cloth.

They were on the way back to the van before they spoke again.

"You're my best friend ever, you know that, right?" Matty said, finally, his voice rough with coughing, as Dave shovelled him into the passenger seat.

"Uh," said Dave, and helped him into his seatbelt.

"No, you are. And we're going to make it," Matty said, feverishly earnest. "We are."

He reached out and grabbed Dave's hand, squeezing it tight. Dave looked at him, and wanted, wanted so much to believe it was true, wanted Matty to be better and everything to be good again.

"You'll see," Matty said, confidently. "Just wait. We're unstoppable."

And with that, he leaned his head against the seat, and seemed to fall asleep instantly, eyelashes fanning out gently over his cheekbones.

Dave stared at him. "Unstoppable," he said, and then stepped back and shut the door gently on Matty's side.

\-------------------------------------

The first week of the Cloud Nine tour was the most exciting, exhausting and terrifying of Dave's life: scarier than the first few days of high school, more tiring even than their first tour as Crustacean Sensation.

His actual job wasn't too bad. Ellie turned out to be incredibly easy-going. After some little hitches at the first show, which she waved off as "just first night stuff, don't worry about it, little Davy" he tried really hard to get everything perfect for her at the next few shows. He must have done something right, because she went around telling everyone that she was going to keep him forever.

The rest of the time he helped out where he could, trying to show the other techs, who were mostly older and had been around tours a while, that he wasn't going to be a pain in the ass. He fetched and carried and spent an hour every night helping the sound guys untangle what looked like the longest extension cables in the world. The first few nights on the road he went to bed aching all over. (He was glad, for once, of his height, curling up comfortably in his bunk in the tech bus while everyone else groaned about the damage the tiny beds were doing to their backs.)

It turned out though that the hardest part of the job wasn't really the work.

"We're not really a party tour," Adam had told them when he asked if Matty and Dave wanted a job.

Bugs had nodded in the background. "We're kind of an old fart tour really," he'd said, wrinkling his face up. "You know, like, we kind of read a lot and play video games and Boots makes everyone take vitamins and drink orange juice."

Matty had snorted with laughter. "Dave makes me take vitamins when we're on tour," he'd said. Dave had kicked him under the table. "What? Don't kick me, you totally do."

Adam had laughed. "You'll get along with Boots, then. But seriously. If you're expecting a lot of drugs, groupies and hard-core partying, you're going to be disappointed."

At the time, Dave and Matty had fallen over themselves to say that no, that was fine, that was cool, and then signed on for the tour, barely managing to wait until Bugs and Adam had left the room for a moment to bounce up and down at each other with glee.

And yeah, maybe the Cloud Nine tour took a lot more vitamins than a lot of the tours out there on the roads of Canada, but they still played pretty damn hard. By the end of the first week, Dave had somehow been tricked into playing Twister with most of Toast at Midnight (Adam, walking in on the game, had offered to help him file a sexual harassment suit), officiated at three bicycle races (Spencer was leading the competition on points), and played percussion for any number of impromptu musical outbursts. He'd even been convinced to sing a couple of times.

"We need harmony vocals!" Bruno complained, as he and Matty crooned their way through a cheesy ballad.

"Don't look at me," Boots said, improvising a guitar solo while they paused for breath. "You know I can't carry a tune in a bucket."

"Dave can sing!" Matty exclaimed. Everyone looked over at Dave, who shook his tambourine threateningly at Matty.

"Oh my god, shut up," he said, feeling his face turn pink.

"You sing?" Bugs said, opening his eyes and looking up from where he was napping, his head in Adam's lap. "Dude. Singing drummers. Rare."

"David Grohl," Matty said, immediately. "Phil Collins!"

Everyone in the room recoiled. "Okay, maybe not the greatest example," Matty admitted. Boots segued into Groovy Kind Of Love.

Dave muttered something, but Matty, abandoning the rolled up piece of paper he'd been singing into, came over and threw his arm over Dave's shoulders. "C'mon, pleeeeeease," he pleaded, gazing at Dave with big eyes.

Dave crumbled, and when Bruno and Matty started singing again he joined in, quietly at first, and then a little louder when Boots looked over at him and grinned encouragingly. Matty leaned into him, and Dave concentrated on matching their voices. There was a little round of applause when they finished, but Dave shifted nervously at the speculative look Adam was giving him. Thankfully Ellie came flying down the corridor at that moment to demand they give Dave back to her, and there was no time for anything else.

So it was all kind of exhausting, between the work and the bands and the music. By the time they hit Kingston, though, Dave had developed a little routine. He'd found there was an hour, somewhere between setting up Ellie's kit and dinner, where no-one really needed him and everything was pretty quiet. He'd taken to sneaking off and finding a quiet corner, just to have a little time to himself. Matty usually found him before the hour was up, using his apparently innate Dave detection sensor, and he'd squash himself into Dave's hidey-hole and tell him about the lyrics he'd thought of and today's tale of the terrifying Panic fangirls who got everywhere no matter how good the security was, and about his latest plan to make Dave "edgy".

In Kingston, though, someone else entirely found his hiding spot, even if they didn't precisely find him.

He'd curled up on a sofa in a spare dressing room that had been left unlocked, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his sweater and pulling the hood up over his hair. He had his iPod on, but not so loud that he missed the click of the door opening.

"Bruno!" Boots was protesting, half-laughing. "What? Wait!" The door clicked shut again.

There was a sort of scuffling noise, but just as Dave was about to pop his head over the top of the sofa, the noises... changed.

Dave froze. His iPod inconveniently moved on to long pause before the bonus track of the album he was listening to, and his earphones filled with nothing but a whispery silence. One of the guys laughed softly, Dave couldn't tell which of them, and there was another pause, broken by uneven breathing and a few murmured words he tried very hard not to hear. His muscles shook as he fought to remain completely motionless, scared they'd catch him listening, that they would stop.

The sound of the door opening again caught him by surprise, and he started. Bruno and Boots jumped apart.

"Oh!" Matty said, and Dave barely stopped himself from laughing. "Sorry, I was just looking for Dave."

"He's not here," started Boots, but Matty just brushed past him and vaulted over the top of the sofa. Dave pulled his legs out of the way automatically.

"You sleeping?" Matty said, cheerfully, and Dave sat up, turning around so he was half facing Bruno and Boots.

"Yes," he said hastily. "Sorry, I. I was sleeping. Listening to music. I was listening to my iPod and sleeping."

Bruno raised his eyebrows at him. Boots was looking at the floor, his cheeks pink.

"I didn't hear anyone come in," Dave lied. "I'm surprised you didn't hear me snoring."

Bruno's eyes narrowed, but he grinned and shrugged it off. "We'd only just come in," he said.

"You don't snore, Davy," Matty interjected. "Talk, yes, snore, no. Oh, Adam was looking for you," he added, turning to look at Boots.

Boots nodded, and vanished out the door. Bruno sort of nodded at the two of them and followed.

Dave breathed out shakily, and Matty looked at him. "What you listening to?" he asked, after a second, then, without waiting for an answer, said: "How would you feel about changing the lyrics in Trilobyte so they're less, you know, dinosaur, rawr! and more like, about something. And maybe changing the title."

He stared earnestly at Dave, and then, apparently absently, pushed his fingers into the hole below the knee of Dave's jeans and wrapped his cold hand around Dave's calf.

"Eep," said Dave, trying to wriggle away. "You and Rob were the ones who were into the dinosaur thing. Plus, you have to sing it, not me."

Matty hummed thoughtfully, and reached out to pull one of Dave's earphones out of his ear, transferring it to his own. He leaned his head on Dave's shoulder so they could both listen comfortably.

Dave sat very still.

"I like this song," Matty said, his breath warm on Dave's collarbone. Dave nodded silently, and Matty subsided, tapping the beat absently with his foot.

Sometimes, Dave thought, the parts that looked like the hard work of touring, the fetching and carrying, the late hours and the constant motion, sometimes they turned out to be the easiest, and it was everything else that was hard.

He closed his eyes and tucked his hands back into his sleeves so that they wouldn't be tempted to wander.

\-------------------------------------------

When Matty was fourteen, he and Dave had a huge fight. Enormous. So vast that, for the first time since they met in second grade, they stopped talking to each other for a whole four days.

It wasn't the first time they had gone four days without speaking to one another, of course. Matty went away to summer camp for four weeks every summer because his dad had loved summer camp and wanted Matty to love it too. Matty didn't like to break it to his dad that he wasn't all that wild about sport and brotherhood and good clean fun and all the other things Camp Algonkian Island was supposed to be about. His dad had totally noticed that he was grumpy and didn't want to go, but all he did was shrug and say: "Just try not to flood the place, okay?" with a nostalgic grin.

The first year, when Matty was ten, he almost cried when he saw the huge crowds of boys and it really hit him that Dave wasn't one of them. Dave wouldn't even ask his mom if he could go to camp with Matty, and had made Matty feel like a jerk when he'd suggested it, just staring at him and then saying no flatly.

The second day at camp though, Matty not only got a stupid London tourist postcard in the mail call, which meant Dave must have mailed it even before Matty left. Then when he went to the computer room in the free hour after lunch, there was an e-mail waiting for him that didn't even start with a hi, just went into this long story about the dog that chased Dave down the street while he was doing his paper route. And so, even though it wasn't as much fun as it would have been if Dave could have come too, the four weeks always went by quickly. Matty made friends with some of the guys at camp, and sent Dave long e-mails about the stuff he was doing, and heard back from Dave most every day, one way or another.

The fight was different. Dave was everywhere and nowhere at the same time: in class with Matty but sitting in a different part of the room. Over at the table with some of the band kids at lunch, not with Matty and their other friends. On IM in the evenings but with a Not Available thing next to his name, and the Away message "Feeding chimps to alligators", which Matty, who always knew what Dave's cryptic away messages were about, didn't understand at all.

The fight started on a Wednesday, and the weekend was the worst part, because even his parents noticed the Dave shaped hole in his life. "No Davy?" his mom said, in surprise, Saturday lunchtime. She peered behind him as if Dave might just be hiding. Matty shook his head, and she blinked at him, before slowly returning the fourth place setting she'd been laying out to the drawer. "Is he sick?"

"No," said Matty, and chewed his lip. There were days when he really wished it was still OK to tell your mom everything and get a hug to make it all better. "Not sick."

She looked at him, eyes narrowing. "Something up with you two?" she said, almost casually.

"No," lied Matty, and sat down with a petulant thump in his seat. "Maybe. I don't know."

"Hmm," his mother said, and Matty crossed his arms and tried not to pout. She didn't say anything more, but she gave him an extra cookie with his lunch, and ruffled his hair as he went past to go back up to his room.

Sunday, he woke up early, and his first thought was that he had to tell Dave about his really cool dream, and his second thought was that god, he really just needed to stop fighting with Dave. So he got up and snuck out of the house, cycling over to Dave's house. It was early October, so it was kind of chilly and damp, and he was shivering as he locked up his bike outside their place. For the first time he wondered what he would do if no-one was up, but luckily Dave's mom was in the kitchen in her robe when he arrived.

She blinked at him sleepily when he knocked on the door. "Hello Matthew," she said, pushing open the screen door, which creaked loudly. "You're up early. I think Dave is still asleep."

He nodded at her. "Can I come in?" he said, the words tumbling out. "I need to talk to him."

She stepped back and let him in with a smile. "I haven't seen you for a few days," she said. "Have you been busy?"

"Um," said Matty, sidling past her towards the stairs down to Dave's room. "Kinda."

"Ask him if he wants oatmeal," she called after him as he headed into the basement.

Dave's room was dark, only a couple of blinking lights on his computer and a chink of light from where he'd left his curtains half open illuminating the room. When Matty's eyes adjusted, he could just make out the lump of Dave under a pile of blankets. Dave was always cold in his sleep.

Matty dithered, and then shucked his shoes hastily and clambered onto the bed, curling up behind Dave.

Dave twitched. "Matty?" he said, foggily, still mostly asleep.

Matty took a deep breath. The sheets smelled of Dave's mom's fabric softener and sleep and Dave, as familiar and comforting as his own bed. "Yeah," he said, and then braced himself. "I'm sorry."

Dave twitched again. "Okay," he said. His breath evened out. A few seconds later he sighed in his sleep. "Matty," he murmured, and Matty stole one of his blankets and closed his eyes too.

And that was it. When Dave woke up properly, they had oatmeal and bananas and maple syrup, and Dave's mom kissed them both good-bye when she headed off to work. At school on Monday, Dave sat at Matty's table at lunch, and passed him a note in Biology, and Matty always knew when Dave's Away message meant he was away to everyone except Matty.

Even though they fought a million times after that, they never fought again, the kind of fighting with the not speaking and the awful cold feeling in the pit of Matty's stomach. He couldn't imagine what it would have been like having to perform like that, cut off from Dave and not being sure that if he turned around Dave would meet his eyes and be there with him.

It was really weird watching the Fish boys do the second kind of fighting, the horrible kind, not the kind where Bruno did something ridiculous and Boots yelled at him with that look on his face that said he would rather be laughing. This was the kind where they never seemed to be in the same room together at the same time, and where you would find Boots standing with two cups of coffee and a lost expression on his face before he knew to cover it up, and where Adam was running himself ragged trying to make it look like everything was all right. And on stage, Fish looked like three guys with instruments and a tune to play, and not a band.

Matty kind of hated it, so he wandered away from the sound booth where he'd been watching soundcheck, and went in search of Dave. Dave, in typical Dave fashion, had rolled himself up in a ball and was taking a nap in the corner of the sofa in the Toast dressing room. Lilah looked up and frowned at Matty when he clattered in, but he just shrugged amiably. As if him banging the door would wake Dave up.

Dave sighed in his sleep when Matty sat down next to him, automatically uncurling when Matty poked him. "Matty," he said, in one of the fifty-eight ways he said Matty's name in his sleep, and then subsided. Matty let his hand rest on Dave's shoulder, and smiled at Lilah.

"You two are adorable," she said, grinning back.

"Yeah," Matty said, "We totally are."

Dave shifted and half-woke up. "Not adorable, Matty," he denied, sleepily.

Lilah laughed, and strummed on the guitar she was holding. After a minute, Matty hummed along to the song, feeling the tap of Dave's fingers against his knee like his heartbeat.

\-----------------------------------------------

The only things that Dave remembered later about the bar the tour descended upon in Winnipeg were: (a) the wall of wooden fish (six hundred and seventy six of them, if the bar's owner was to be believed), and (b) the guy who hit on him. Every other detail was lost to the muzzy morning-after feeling he nursed all the way to Regina.

"Water?" whispered Matty, seeing Dave crack one eye open when they were still an hour away from the venue. Dave nodded silently, and Matty passed him a cold bottle, and then tipped a couple of aspirin into his palm. Dave sighed with relief, swallowed the tablets quickly, and then let his forehead come to rest on Matty's upper arm.

"Don't let me drink again, 'kay?" he said, rubbing his eyes.

"Uh-huh," said Matty, cheerfully. "Good night, though."

Dave frowned a little. "I guess," he said, after a long pause. Matty patted his thigh comfortingly, and then moved his hand away to his own lap. Dave looked at it, cataloguing Matty's long fingers and the white of his nails, the sprinkle of freckles across one knuckle.

"Well, I had fun," Matty was saying. "And you looked like you were too, once we got rid of that guy. Seriously, what did he think he was doing?"

Hitting on me, thought Dave, tiredly. Not that it did me any good.

Matty was still talking, something about playing pool, his hands lifting as he made some gesture. Dave watched and nodded, and didn't listen to a word.

Several hours later, his head still throbbing gently, Dave sat down on the edge of the stage at the venue to take some more aspirin and a well-deserved break. Through the double doors at the back of the room he could see Matty whistling cheerfully as he sorted out the piles of merch for the bands.

Dave sighed. It wasn't fair that Matty could drink him under the table and yet never seemed to get a hangover. He picked idly at the label on his bottle of water. If he was honest, he admitted to himself ruefully, that wasn't the only thing that felt unfair today.

The fact was, Matty was ridiculously possessive of Dave, even though Matty himself had had girlfriends on and off since they were 14. He didn't even seem to realize that he was cock-blocking Dave, which made it even more frustrating. It wasn't a coincidence that the only times Dave had managed to hook up, it had been while Matty wasn't there, away at summer camp or out with some girl.

Dave took another sip of water. Out in the lobby, Matty burst into delighted laughter at something Tony, the Fish merch guy, was saying. It probably said something about Dave that he recognized that laugh in the middle of a dozen conversations, he decided morosely. It probably said even more that the guys he'd hooked up with those two or three times weren't what he thought about late at night. The guys had been fine, nice even, but it had all been furtive and rushed and hollow in the end. Good for a few minutes, of course: the feel of someone else's hand on him thrillingly unfamiliar. But afterward Dave had just felt cold and unbearably disappointed, rushing home to shower and sleep, his body satisfied but his mind restless.

What he dreamed about on those nights was something else entirely, something older and far more innocent. Matty, lying on Dave's bedroom floor with him one Sunday afternoon as they got drunk for the first time on a couple of beers stolen from Matty's grandfather. They'd been sharing a pillow, giggling as they made up stupid lyrics for Radiohead songs, and then somehow, Dave had no idea how, somehow they'd rolled closer and the laughter had faded and then they had kissed. His sense of time was all distorted, so he couldn't say how long they had kept on kissing. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. All he could remember was how gentle it had been, Matty's fingers just barely touching his jaw and neck, Dave's hands twisted in the soft jersey of Matty's sweatshirt. They'd kissed, and then they must have slept, and when Dave woke up, Matty was gone, the beer cans were gone, and Dave's mom was poking at his ribs with her foot, an amused expression on her face.

Dave would have thought it had all been a dream except for his Radiohead CD still in the player and the beer can ring-pull he'd found under the pillow they'd been sharing. The next day at school though, Matty met his eyes with his usual open friendliness and asked him something about their math homework as if nothing had ever happened. And so, Dave forced himself to let it fade as if it really had only been a dream, until he had almost, almost convinced himself that it had been. It was only sometimes, on the edge of sleep, that he let himself remember: the mix of fear and delight he'd felt; the stroke of Matty's fingers on his cheek and the sweep of Matty's eyelashes against his skin; the way it had been strange and familiar all at once, careful and urgent and sweet.

Dave sighed again. No wonder the anonymous boys he'd groped in the dark never matched up, he thought, gloomily. How could they ever?

"Penny for your thoughts," said Adam, coming to stand beside him.

"They're not worth it," Dave answered, looking up and forcing himself to smile. Adam smiled back and held out his hand to help Dave to his feet.

"Bugs was looking for you," Adam said, as Dave brushed off his jeans. "Something about his bass drum, maybe, I don't know."

Dave nodded. "Yeah, okay," he said, "Let me just check in with Ellie."

Adam shook his head. "Interviews," he said, "She's out for an hour."

"Okay," said Dave, and then looked over to the doors when he heard Matty whoop with laughter again. When he looked back, Adam was looking at him kindly.

"It'll work out, you know," Adam said.

Uncertain, Dave just stared at him. He wasn't sure what Adam meant -- the band? The tour? He hoped the thing with Matty wasn't so obvious that Adam, who was practically a stranger still, would notice.

"Um," he said, "I guess?"

Adam smiled again, and stepped away. "Bugs is in our dressing room," he said. "I'll let Ellie know where you are when she gets back."

Dave nodded, and walked away, uneasily aware of Adam watching him as he left.

\----------------------------------------------

Two weeks after the tour ended, Dave and Matty were still staying at Bugs and Adam's house.

"Don't be ridiculous," Adam said, firmly, when Dave suggested that they should head back to London one afternoon. "This is the best place for you to be right now. You and Matty can write and use the studio here much more easily than recording demos in London. Besides, we never use the rooms you're in except when my parents come to stay."

Dave shuffled his feet and wouldn't met Adam's eye.

"Besides," Adam continued, more gently, "We like having you here."

"I just don't like being a freeloader," Dave muttered, his cheeks turning pink.

"And you're not," said Adam, with a grin. "You have no idea how much I would pay to have a tame drummer living over my garage to keep Bugs amused. He goes stir crazy if he doesn't have something to entertain him, and then the next thing I know we're running all over the country to listen to some new band he found at three in the morning on the internet. I try to keep him busy, but I am but one man and we can't stay in bed all the time. I have stuff to do."

Dave blushed even harder, and Adam's grin widened. "You're going to catch on fire," he said, and chuckled.

"Why are we laughing at Dave now?" Bugs asked, coming into the room. Adam just laughed harder, and Dave mumbled something and escaped out the back door before they could tease him any more.

A long stripe of sunlight lit the back of the large yard out behind Bugs and Adam's house. Matty was lying on the grass with his iPod, one foot beating time to the music he was listening to. Dave sat down beside him. Matty opened one eye, smiled sleepily, and offered him one of his earpieces. Dave shook his head, and Matty let the cable coil on his chest rather than replacing it in his ear.

"Adam says we should stay a while longer," Dave said.

"Cool," said Matty. "I think Al is going to come see us, and bring his bassist friend, and hey presto, instant new band."

Dave nodded. "My mom wants me to come home, though, get a job," he said, after a minute had passed. "I don't know, Matty, maybe I should just go. What if we don't make it? What if Al hates our music? What if it isn't any good?"

Matty pushed himself up onto his elbows and pulled his other earpiece out. "Then we find someone else," he said, patiently. "We write more music, we go out on tour again and tech some more. We keep trying until we're eighty and we end up headlining our first tour with walking sticks and hearing aids."

Dave smiled at this image, but it slid off his face again after only a moment. "But what if..." he started.

"Dave," Matty interrupted. "We stick together, and it'll all work out fine. You'll see."

With that, he lay back down, closing his eyes against the glare of the sun.

Dave leaned back on his hands and stared at the house, ridiculously reassured by Matty's words. So much had changed this summer, he thought. When he wasn't feeling terrified, he was genuinely excited about the music he and Matty were making, about the idea of working with Al and his friend, about the whole life he'd stumbled into and the new friends he'd made. After everything that had happened earlier in the year, after the heart-clenching fear that it was all over, this summer had been like some kind of miracle. He just couldn't help but be worried it wouldn't last.

He glanced over at Matty, who had closed his eyes again. His hair looked like it had been threaded with gold, the way the sun caught the lighter strands here and there. Matty was always certain, positive that they could do anything together.

Dave looked at his hands. "Matty," he said, after a long moment, feeling like he was going to burst with everything he was feeling.

"Hmm?" Matty murmured, without moving.

Dave paused. "Nothing," he said, finally.

"OK," said Matty, drowsily. His lips turned up in a little smile, and he reached out to pat Dave's knee.

Dave stared at Matty's hand on his leg, and felt his stomach flip with excitement and fear. He bit his lip, then half-turned, and, leaning on one arm, bent and kissed Matty softly on the lips.

Dave felt Matty startle, and then relax almost as suddenly. He concentrated on keeping the kiss light and gentle, giving Matty time to respond, enjoying it while it lasted. He trembled when he felt Matty's hand come up, afraid he was going to be pushed away. Then he felt the slightest touch to his jaw and his earlobe, felt Matty tuck a curl behind his ear, fingertips tangling in his hair.

He broke free and sat up, turning back towards the house, his face burning. Immediately, Matty's hand skated down his arm and wrapped around his wrist, holding him tight. Matty sat up as well. "Davy," he said, wonderingly. "Dave?"

"Sorry, I..." said Dave, and tried to tug his arm away.

"No running away," said Matty. "Look at me. Please."

Dave turned, glancing at Matty's serious face and then away again, his own face still feeling hot and flushed. "Can't we just... I'm sorry," he said. "Oh god, you're my best friend. I'm sorry."

He heard Matty shift beside him, and then Matty was next to him, his fingers cupping Dave's jaw, his other hand slipping away from Dave's wrist to lace their hands together. Matty looked at him seriously, and then kissed him. Dave let his eyelids drift closed, returning Matty's kisses fervently, his hand coming up to touch Matty's shoulder and stroke down his back.

They stopped only when they needed to catch their breath, Matty pressing their foreheads together, his fingers still buried in Dave's hair. "Don't say you're sorry," he said, and there was a little catch in his voice.

Dave shook his head. "Okay," he whispered.

"No running away," Matty said again, and kissed Dave again before he could reply. "We've done this before."

"Yeah," said Dave, and he moved to put a little distance between them. "I mean. Yeah. I remember. I didn't think you did."

Matty shrugged. He still had hold of Dave's hand, and he stroked his thumb over Dave's palm. "I remember," he said, and his lips twisted in a little smile.

Dave caught his breath. "I think I'm maybe kind of in love with you," he blurted out, and then stopped, mortified.

Matty's eyes snapped to his. "You think?" he said, and he sounded dazed.

Dave nodded. "I... Yes," he said. He looked away again. Matty let go suddenly, and Dave felt chilled and small, his stomach turning over again when Matty scrambled to his feet to stand in front of him.

Matty though just reached out a hand, and when Dave held out his own automatically, pulled Dave to his feet so that he stumbled into Matty's arms. Matty wrapped him up in a hug, ducking his head to press his face into the curve of Dave's neck. Startled, Dave put his arms around Matty's shoulders.

"Yes," whispered Matty into his collarbone. He blew out a long sigh, and Dave shivered as Matty's lips moved against his neck.

"Yes?" he murmured back.

"Yes, you love me," Matty said. He raised his head and smiled. "Finally."

"Fi--" Dave started, his brow creasing into a frown, but Matty stopped him by kissing him again. His arms were tight around Dave, pulling him close into his body, like he wanted to pull Dave into his skin. Dave was breathless when Matty reluctantly let him go.

"Yeah," Matty said, and his fingers crept up under the back of Dave's t-shirt and brushed over the small of his back, making him shiver. "Finally."

Dave stared at him, and he started to smile, then to grin. "Yeah," he agreed, and reached up joyfully to pull Matty's lips down to his again.

* * *

Inside the house, Adam listened to Bugs on his cellphone with Bruno as he puttered around the kitchen, wiping down the counters. Bugs was drumming on the table while Bruno spoke, and Adam grinned at the familiar background noise. He went to drop his cloth in the sink and glanced idly out the window as he did so. "Oh!" he exclaimed.

Bugs looked up, but Adam was transfixed. "Hang on a second," he said to Bruno, and moved over to where Adam was standing.

Out in the yard, Matty and Dave were still kissing, pressed closely together, sunlight haloing them where they stood. "Oh," said Bugs, starting to smile.

"What, what?" said Bruno, on the other end of the phone. "What's going on?"

"Matty and Dave got it together," said Bugs, delightedly. "They're in our yard making out."

"Oh my god, finally," said Bruno. He raised his voice. "BOOTS! BOOTS! COME HERE!"

Bugs winced and moved the phone away from his ear. "Ow," he said.

Adam took the phone from him. "Bad idea to deafen your drummer," he said.

"Sorry," said Bruno, without much remorse. "Boots, hey, Bugs says Matty and Dave finally got together."

Adam heard Boots say something in the background, and Bruno laughed. "He says at least they didn't wait as long as we did," he reported to Adam, ruefully. "What are they doing? Take pictures. I need to call everyone and let them know."

"I am not taking pictures, and they might not want everyone to know," Adam protested, and Bugs glanced over at him with laughter in his eyes. Bugs shifted closer, putting an arm around Adam and leaning his chin on Adam's shoulder, and Adam leaned back.

Bruno spluttered at the other end of the line, and Adam glanced out of the window, watching the way the two boys held each other. "They're just making out, it's adorable."

"Dirty old man," Bruno said, affectionately. "What? Oh, okay. Boots says I have to go now before my hypocrisy chokes me. Say hi to the guys for me and tell them how happy we are for them."

"Yup," said Adam, distracted. He hung up without saying anything more, dropping the phone onto the counter. Bugs wrapped his other arm around Adam. Adam stared out the window, and then smiled. "Do you think we should remind them not to have sex in our yard in broad daylight?"

"You want to go out there and interrupt?" Bugs said, turning so he too could glance out of the window.

Matty and Dave were talking now, or at least saying something softly to one another. Adam wouldn't have bet on their coherence. Matty's fingers were tangled in Dave's belt-loops. He shook his head.

"I kind of want to go make out with you instead," Adam said, looking away towards Bugs and grinning.

Bugs laughed delightedly. "Oh yeah?" he said, "Just make out?"

"Just to start," Adam said, and pulled Bugs in to kiss him. Where the couple outside were careful, reverent in the newness of it, Adam fell into the familiar heat of it, knowing just how to touch.

When they came up for air, Matty and Dave were gone, and they heard the door to the apartment over the garage slam closed. Bugs laughed against Adam's neck. "You're going to get them signed, right?" he said. "You know, when they re-emerge in like, five days and write some more music. And get over the part where all they write is mushy love songs."

Adam nodded, letting his fingers wander around and into the waistband at the back of Bugs' jeans. "Uh-huh," he said distractedly. "Probably. Why? Don't you think I should?"

Bugs shook his head. "Gayest label ever," he sighed, and Adam had to kiss him again when he saw how Bugs' eyes crinkled with mirth.


End file.
